


Come as you are

by nofeartina



Series: As I let you in [2]
Category: SKAM (Norway)
Genre: 3-year anniversary fic, Alternate Universe - Arranged Marriage, Angst, Even's POV of As I let you in, Even's sister is the queen, Fantasy, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Politics, Royalty, The Aftermath of War, made-up historical times (just roll with it), mentions of war and violence (non-graphic)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-27
Updated: 2020-03-12
Packaged: 2021-02-27 18:49:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 27,708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22920523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nofeartina/pseuds/nofeartina
Summary: Prince Even of Bergway takes a prince-consort.Or the aftermath of marrying for convenience when you’re in love.(Even’s POV of As I let you in)
Relationships: Even Bech Næsheim/Isak Valtersen
Series: As I let you in [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1644412
Comments: 141
Kudos: 564





	1. The Beginning

**Author's Note:**

> Omg I can’t believe another year has passed! Posting this first chapter marks my third anniversary writing fic for this fandom. What an awesome ride it’s been. <3
> 
> Thank you Immy and Cola for your amazing work betaing this fic, your comments and thoughts and suggestions have, as always, made this so much better. 
> 
> This fic is a true labor of love. I’ve written it on and off for almost a year and it got so much longer than I thought it would, but I guess Even just had a lot to say. :) (And hopefully, you guys don’t really mind. ;)) 
> 
> To get the complete experience, you should read 'As I let you in' first (as this is basically Even’s POV of that fic xD). Especially chapter 1 won’t make much sense without having that fic in mind, js. :)
> 
> I truly hope you enjoy!

“You still want to do this?” she asks, standing next to him by the window, watching Isak walk towards the castle in the distance. 

Isak’s wearing that shirt again, the one that shows all that skin and is more distracting than Even knows how to deal with. Enough that it takes him longer than it should to answer and even without looking he knows the way she’s watching him. He fights the pull of a smile, knows that she’s searching for it as she waits for him to answer.

“Yes. I want to show him.”

She hums in reply and when he finally chances a glance at her from the corner of his eye, he finds her already looking back out the window.

“Does he know how much he’s distracting you wearing those shirts?”

He can’t help the surprised huff of laughter that spills out of him and she turns to look at him, pleased. His eyes leave her to find Isak again, this time much closer to the castle. 

He doesn’t answer her, but he dips low in an exaggerated bow that he only performs when he wants to tease her back, and says, “My Queen,” in his most serious voice before he turns to leave her. His mind is already stuck on whether the kitchen prepared enough food for the little picnic he’s prepared, if the weather will hold, if the flowers he loves so much will be in bloom already, whether Isak will even like the surprise, when his sister stops him with a hand on his arm.

“Be careful. You don’t know if--”

But he cuts her off, doesn’t want to be reminded yet again of the dangers they might face doing this. “I don’t. But we have the guards with us, and the scouts haven’t reported anything suspect for a while now. I can’t keep him locked in, he’s bound to start asking questions.”

She nods and smiles a smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes.

He knows she’s scared, but it’s her job to be. His is to not let her in on whether he’s worried too. So he smiles back and finally leaves the room to go find his husband.

Although he knows his own smile probably didn’t reach his eyes either.

\--||--

Even is so tired he can barely walk the short distance to his chambers, yet his mind is working too fast, memories of what happened in that forest constantly playing to the point where he’s sure he won’t be able to sleep.

He enters, closes the door behind him and rests against it. 

It’s the first time since they returned that he’s been alone and the silence is a relief. He stands there, takes a couple of deep breaths, tries to dissolve the knot in his chest that’s making breathing right hard. 

He can’t believe how close they had gotten.

Not for the first time that month or even that day he curses Finnia and its queen to hell and back, wishing the conflict between them hadn’t escalated to this point.

He’s been so busy being debriefed, spending the entire afternoon and evening with his sister and their advisors going over this new development. It’s the first time Queen Sara has tried anything like this. They’ve been expecting it, have taken precautions for it, and he’s more grateful than ever for his sister’s foresight. 

Without those guards, they wouldn’t have stood a chance. No matter how good at fighting Isak is, no matter what it did to Even to see him unleash all that power and strength he so clearly holds, they were severely outnumbered. But if Isak hadn’t pulled Even aside…

Even shakes his head to rid himself of that thought.

His cheek throbs as he remembers the sound of the arrow, of the sharp pain as it had grazed him. But most of all he remembers the way Isak had jumped at him and carried him to safety, the way he had looked at him and touched him. 

He had cursed himself the entire way back to the castle, so angry at himself for having thought for even a minute that they would be safe that far away from the city.

He should’ve known better.

Seeing Isak sitting on the horse next to him, covered in blood, shaking, looking pale and wide-eyed was horrible. Even wanted to reach over, wanted to put his arms around him and tell him that he’s fine, that he’s safe, but Even didn’t dare touch him.

He’s done what he can to try to understand the affliction Isak suffers from being at war all those years, still remembers how King Jonas was holding him when he found them in that room together. He wants to be that person for Isak, desperately wants Isak to take comfort from him, but he also realizes that they’re not quite there yet. He was afraid that he would make it worse by for Isak if he had reached out for him on that horse.

Even closes his eyes and tries to breathe through his distress. Obviously he has heard all the rumors about Isak, about the Battle of the Borders and how Isak earned his nickname. He can’t say that those didn’t make him hesitant about how much Isak had changed over the years since that first time he saw him. Luckily, so far, all his fears have been put to rest. 

When he’s in bed, he tells himself to stop thinking about what happened, how close they were. But he’s tossing and turning, eyes wide open and mind racing, sleep nowhere in sight. He fears he’s made a mistake leaving Isak. He wonders if he’s sleeping, if he’s worrying about Even too. If he’s seeing the faces of all those men he killed, just as Even is. 

Even’s never been that close to death before, has never heard what sounds men make as they lose their lives. He knows that their deaths were inevitable, he  _ knows  _ it. But--

He can’t help how those sounds play in his mind over and over again. Guttural screams, blood gurgling in throats, the sound of swords meeting bodies, tearing through flesh and bone.

He doesn’t envy Isak his strength or his stamina or his rigid posture one bit, not when he knows this is the way he got it. 

He turns over to the other side trying to find a cooler spot, trying to get his mind to stop imagining what other horrors Isak must have gone through.

At no point during the very restless night, does he actually manage to.

\--||--

“Even, you’re acting weird today,” Sonja says, her gaze penetrating and so very blue out here in the garden. They’re in her favorite spot, just inside the maze of hedges, hidden from the outside world enough that her chaperone can pretend they’re keeping watch.

He hates that he still has to do this. 

But he has to, he can’t put himself first. He’s known this since the day he was born so he widens his smile and takes her hand.

“Weird how?”

She squints, her eyes briefly glancing at the wound on his cheek, but she doesn’t mention it. 

“I’m not sure. You’re just acting strangely. Are you sure you’re okay after what happened? Was it weird seeing Isak like that?” She looks at him with wide eyes, like she’s realizing something. “He didn’t do something to you, did he? You’re not covering for him, please tell me you’re not.”

Even looks at her, genuinely lost for words. He just can't decide if she’s a really good actor or if she doesn’t  _ know. _ And that has been his problem all along doing this. He knows Sonja, has known her for years, and he honestly can’t quite believe that she’s playing a role in this, that she would betray him like this. 

He doesn’t think she is, but he can’t be sure. And he wants to be sure before he tells her the truth. If she’s playing him, then telling her the truth could have catastrophic consequences.

“No, of course not, Sonja. He would never hurt me.”

“Well, you never know with a war-hardened man like that, what kind of violence he thinks is normal. I would hate for you to fall victim to that.” She leans in and puts her hand over his, a brazen breach of protocol that makes his mouth dry. “I just want you safe, Even.”

And this is probably the hardest part of keeping up this charade around her. She doesn’t act any differently than she used to, is maybe even a bit more affectionate now that Even is married and she technically knows that her chance with him is blown.

It’s just…. she does seem to genuinely care for him, shows concern for him, still tells him that she loves him and sounds like she means it.

He doesn’t remove his hand although he’s itching to. Instead, he says, “I know. And honestly, you don’t have to worry about me with Isak. He’s very gentle with me.”

She pulls back, eyes cast down as her hand slips from his to her dress.“Oh.”

And just like that, the mood between them grows tense and uncomfortable, in a way it really only does when he talks about Isak with her. 

He tries not to.

“Is your father back from his journey yet?” he asks as a way to get the conversation back on track and to steer it in the direction he’s here for.

She smiles, but it’s still more subdued than it was just moments ago.

“No, not yet. We expect him to be back tomorrow. Maybe the day after at the latest.”

Even nods, attentive and polite, trying to hide how his pulse is quickening. “Where was it he was going again?”

“He had some business to take care of, I can’t remember where,” she says and finally looks up at him. “You know I can’t keep up with where he goes off to, he’s always traveling.”

“I know,” Even smiles. He doesn’t want to keep pressing, he’s walking a fine line not being too obvious to her. So he decides to back down in case she does know and starts to suspect something. “I only ask because there have been some… trouble at the borders to Finnia. I would hate for him to get caught up in that.”

Sonja laughs, a trilling beautiful laugh that he will always be attracted to. 

“Don’t worry, my father is resilient.”

“Yes,” Even says and gets up, gestures for her to follow. And as she does he continues in a low voice. “He is that.”

When he returns from his walk with Sonja, having said goodbye to her with a lingering kiss on her cheek he hopes nobody else noticed, he heads straight to his sister’s chambers. He’s intercepted by a messenger on the way, redirecting him to the council chamber and the door opens for him immediately when he arrives.

The queen is already speaking but she nods at Even who bows back before he sits down in his chair. It’s one of the counselors from the east she’s speaking to and Even braces himself for what he’s going to be hearing when the counselor answers. It’s not unusual for him to be at odds with this lord, his pampered, old-fashioned ways often clashing with Even’s beliefs.

Although he just got here he’s pretty sure what it is they’re talking about. It’s what they’re always talking about these days.

“I still say we should hang them all. Preemptively. Just strike them down before anything more can happen.”

The queen sighs. “We don’t have definitive proof, Lord Hexum. Not yet,” she leans forward. “Prince Even is working on getting that proof for Us.”

“He should concentrate on his husband instead,” the lord mutters, like he doesn’t want the words to be heard except he’s speaking them loud enough that it’s impossible not to.

Even bristles, but before he can answer the queen does instead. Her voice is icy, leaves no room for arguing as she says, “It is We who decide how the prince spends his time. If you have a problem with it, just know who you answer to.”

The lord visibly cowers and it leaves a warm satisfaction in Even to see how respected his sister is. They’ve worked hard on this, in all those years since his mother and father died unexpectedly. At least her position as queen isn’t something they have to worry about.

But sometimes it feels like that’s the only thing they don’t have to worry about. 

The counselors are dismissed not long after this and Even stays rigid and expression-free until they’re all gone. But as soon as the door closes behind them he slumps in his chair.

His sister takes one look at him, sighs, and then gets up to pour him a glass of wine. She takes a seat much closer to him after she’s set it on the table in front of him and then she just sits there and looks at him. Waiting for him to speak.

“She doesn’t know where he is, but he’s coming home tomorrow, or the day after that.”

She nods, seems to think about the answer before she says, “How did she seem?”

Even slumps even harder back into the chair, nursing the glass of wine in his hands although that makes him heat it up and he doesn’t like that. But right now he needs to fiddle with something.

“I really don’t think she knows.”

She sighs again, leans back in the chair as well, only without the slouching Even is doing, and repeats the old argument they’ve been having countless times during the last year. 

“You don’t know that.”

He doesn’t, but it’s what his gut is telling him. Except he knows that his feeling on the matter isn’t enough for the queen, although it has gone a long way to dissuade her from hurting Sonja and her family. 

Instead of repeating the argument, he leans forward. “What did Lord Hexum mean?”

She waves her hand like she can make his question disappear by doing that. But he can’t help but feel like there’s something here she’s not telling him. 

He doesn’t let her dismiss him, keeps looking at her until she cracks because he knows she will. 

She looks away from him, turns her gaze to the window and sighs, glances back and him and sighs again, and then he can see that she relents.

“There are… rumors.”

Even sits up straight. “What rumors.”

“That your marriage with Isak isn’t consummated.”

Even freezes. He’s sitting so ramrod straight that his back is starting to hurt from it and he can’t hide his wide-eyed look from her. 

She narrows her eyes, her lips pinching and he knows he’s not going to like what comes out of her lips next. 

“But I’ve told them that my brother wouldn’t do anything that stupid. That he understands his responsibilities and what it takes to make sure the alliance will keep.”

Even swallows, but doesn’t answer. His heart is beating a frantic rhythm in his chest, he knows he’s been caught but he doesn’t want to admit it. Maybe if he stays quiet he doesn’t have to, even though he knows that’s not how his sister operates.

“Even!” 

He swallows again. “It’s not…” he starts but he can see that she’s not going to allow him to explain it away.

“You are a Prince of Bergway. You agreed to do this, to marry this man for an alliance. You agreed, Even. You know what is expected of you. Of you both. I can’t believe this!”

He watches her stand up, hasn’t seen her this angry in a good while and as always her anger makes him feel like a chastised kid. 

“You don’t understand, Margrete,” he tries and shuffles in his seat, uncomfortable talking with her about these things.

“No, you’re right, I don’t. You had one task, Even. _ One. _ I can’t believe you’ve let it go on this long!”

“It’s not like we haven’t…. done... things,” he starts, and his cheeks are burning up with embarrassment. “I’ve made sure that we’ve laid out… evidence for the maids to find.”

“Even, I know you’re not this dumb. You’re jeopardizing the entire country. Isak could up and leave any minute if the marriage isn’t consummated and we won’t have any way to hold him here.”

“He wouldn’t do that,” Even says, and he’s never been more sure of anything. “He’s honorable and loyal, he would never--”

“It is not with us his loyalties lie, Even. You would do well to remember that.”

“No, but it is,” he says and takes a step forward. “It  _ is, _ Margrete. You haven’t seen him train with Sana or with the other soldiers, you haven’t seen him walking the castle, or how his attitude is changing with me. He  _ is  _ loyal to us, it doesn’t matter whether or not we have consummated the marriage, he’s not going anywhere.”

“Are you sure, dear brother?” she asks and steps close to him. “Will you risk everything we’ve worked so hard for, risk our kingdom and our people? For a hunch?” She takes a deep breath and looks at him in that way that always made him think of their mother. “You better be sure that he won’t go running to King Jonas the second Jonas would ask him to.”

Even swallows hard again, swallows down the instinct to defend Isak. The problem is that he’s not sure. He wishes he were, but how can he be when Isak will reveal hardly anything about himself to Even. He has a strong idea that Isak will stay loyal to him, but he doesn’t  _ know. _ But he nods at his sister, says, “I am,” because everything screams in him to trust Isak. 

The almost kiss flashes before his eyes, the way Isak’s green eyes turn soft when he laughs. How conscious he seems to be of the marks on his body that Even pretends not to have seen. He can’t know for sure, but Even feels it to be true in every part of his body, right down to how steady Isak’s presence makes his heart beat.

Because he loves him.

She keeps looking at him, those blue eyes piercing and judging until she finally says, “Take care of it, Even. I don’t want to hear any more rumors like this, is that understood?”

“Yes, my Queen,” he answers, bows because he knows him showing his belly like this is the only way to placate her even a little bit when she’s angry.

She turns and looks out the window and he uses the dismissal to escape the room, probably less gracefully than he would’ve liked.

He knows things balance on a knife’s edge right now, with how the kingdom is at the brink of war and more recently with the attempt on their lives. He has to find a way to move them along, to make Isak want to be with him in that way. He absolutely doesn’t want to force himself on Isak or talk to him about honor and duty, because he’s sure that that would make Isak be with him no matter his own desires.

But remembering how Isak had looked on the wedding night, how fragile and small he had looked in his nightgown, standing next to the bed, pale and clammy. There had been no way that Even could’ve done any more than they did. He’s still amazed that he even managed as much as he had.

But things are different now. He’s noticed that Isak smiles more freely around him, has noticed his eyes lingering when he thinks Even doesn’t notice. Even is sure that Isak isn’t that far off from  _ wanting  _ to do those things with Even on his own volition. 

Even just has to find a way to speed it up.

\--||--

Even can’t fall asleep.

He knows he should, knows that he has a busy day ahead of him tomorrow as the expected reports on how much food they have in their stores will be delivered. 

But he can’t seem to close his eyes to the sight in front of him.

Isak looks like an angel sleeping. His lashes are so long and dark against his pale skin, his hair surrounding him on the pillow like a halo. His curls are just starting to come back and Even is desperate to learn how they feel against his fingers. Isak just lies there, asleep, like it’s nothing when Even knows for a fact that he barely sleeps in his own rooms.

Something warm and soft swells in his stomach, makes his heart beat faster and shivers run over his skin at that thought. That apparently Isak trusts him enough to sleep next to him. 

He knows they still have a long way to go, they haven’t kissed yet even though it feels like they will soon. But he feels a deeper connection to Isak than he ever hoped he would. Like somehow, every time Isak looks at him in that way or smiles that pretty secret smile, then that means something. Means that there’s more in their future than what they’re doing now.

He just needs to move them forward faster, or at least fast enough that his sister won’t corner him again and ask him why he still hasn't managed to do anything about their coupling.

He shifts on the bed, looks down at Isak’s hand on top of the cover, very close to his own, and then he slowly moves his hand until it’s directly under Isak’s with only the thin cover separating them.

And he finally falls asleep.

\--||--

He barely waits for the guard to let him through, before he starts speaking.

“It looks like we’ll have enough grain to last us through the winter at least. We’re not done taking stock of all the stores, but there’s already a good surplus, and I’m sure with--” he stops talking when he finally looks up from his report to see his sister sitting by the table, clutching a letter in her hands.

She looks distressed, and, generally, that’s never a good thing.

“What’s going on?”

She finally looks at him, eyes glassy and wet and he immediately sits down next to her, tries to covertly look at the letter to figure out what’s happened.

He puts his hand over hers. “Margrete?”

She clears her throat, shakes her head a bit before she finally says. “Another of our spies has been killed in Finnia.”

He freezes, knows what this means, knows that it’s getting harder and harder not to retaliate to what Queen Sara’s doing.

“That’s--” He doesn’t finish the sentence, can’t quite manage to say it out loud and then he doesn’t have to because his sister does it for him.

“The fourth. I don’t want anymore killed, but we need to know what’s going on there. We need to find out if it’s indeed Lord Grandahl that’s feeding her all this information.”

Even leans back in his chair, his mind starting to run too fast for him, possibilities and solutions that aren’t really viable solutions running through his head. 

“Can’t you kick him out of the council?”

He knows she can’t, this isn’t the first time he’s suggested it, but god, it would make their lives so much easier. They’re both pretty sure the Grandahls are playing a role in Queen Sara’s rising aggression, but so far it’s been impossible to prove.

“I wish I could. But you know how the rest of the nobility would act if I started accusing their peers of treason without more proof.”

She gets up, stands by the window, eyes fixed on a spot Even is sure he wouldn’t find if he were to look as well. She’s deep in thought, mind working on solutions, but by the frown on her forehead, it’s clear that she’s not doing better than him at finding any.

“Do you want me to contact Sonja? Should I--”

“No,” she says and turns around to look at Even. “I don’t think you’re fooling anyone about how you feel for Isak anymore. She’s probably heard the stories of you picking him up every day from the training field, just like the rest of us.”

“I-- We haven’t--”

“Walking together hand in hand. Very subtle, Even.”

He flushes. He wishes he didn’t because he’s not one to flush prettily with how his throat, chest, and cheeks fill with blotches of red, but at least it makes her smile to his mortification.

“We need to figure something else out. We need to know if she’s planning on doing anything other than these border raids.”

“You think she’s planning on starting a war?” He hates how his voice shakes saying those words, but he doesn’t think he could say them any differently. 

Bergway hasn’t been to war for many, many years. The wealth and trades have always paved the way for diplomatic solutions to potential problems. The concept of war scares him if he’s completely honest.

He doesn’t want to send people off to fight.

But Margrete looks away from him, her eyes gazing out of the window again as the frown on her forehead reappears. It takes a long time before she says anything again, but Even waits patiently for her.

“We need to reach out to our Northern Allies, or maybe even King Jonas, to find a new supplier of metals.” She finally looks back at Even, frown gone, a plan clearly forming behind her eyes. “We need to be free of Grandahl’s hold, make sure we still have enough metal to keep our soldiers supplied with weapons.”

“Yes,” Even says, standing up, excited that there’s something he can do. “Do you want me to ask Isak to write King Jonas?”

She turns to him. “No. I don’t want to include him yet, they’ve been to war for so long that surely their supplier is stretched thin as is. I’m going to start with the Northern allies, and then we’ll take it from there. Mikael is still up there, we’ll see if he isn’t able to negotiate a contract on our behalf.”

She sits down at the table again, finds paper and her quill, and is just about to start writing when she looks at him again. “Find a messenger, please. I need someone to deliver this as soon as possible.”

Her focus returns to the letter, and he leaves her to her planning. He has other roles to play.

\--||--

Oh God.

What a night.

Even’s too old to feel this euphoric, he should be able to keep himself together more, it was after all just kissing. But...

What a  _ night. _ Even’s lips are still sore and puffy, they feel almost bruised from Isak’s slight stubble and he can’t help but constantly touch them. Just to make sure that it actually happened.

He still can’t believe it.

He’s lying in bed, smiling like a simpleton. Wondering if Isak is lying awake just like him. Thinking about their kiss.

Of course he’s not. He is much more composed than Even could ever hope to be. He’s probably fast asleep by now, tired from a full day of training and commanding  _ and kissing Even _ , Even’s mind carelessly adds, and yes. That too.

The way Isak had just given him his wrist, had reached it out for Even to tie his ribbon to, it makes Even’s heart beat a frantic tattoo against his chest. He’s much too happy, too elated, to even consider sleep at this point.

All that practice, all those hours spent tying that special Lover’s knot that his dad had tied his mother’s ribbon with, finally paid off. His hands had been trembling while he performed the intricate action, he’d been so scared the ends would slide out of his fingers, that he would ruin the moment with his clumsiness, but instead it had been perfect. 

Everything about this evening had been perfect.

And now Isak is lying in another room in the castle, sleeping with a part of Even close to his heart, on his skin.

It’s enough to make Even short of breath, enough to make him turn on his side and bury his smile into the pillow. 

He shouldn’t, he mustn’t. There’s no need to get ahead of himself, no need for him to already see their future stretched long and happy and prosperous ahead of them, now that he’s gotten a taste of Isak’s affection, a notion of what this marriage could be.

That it could be everything he’d ever hoped for and never dared dream he could have.

From those foolish hopes and dreams he’d harbored as a teenager after seeing Isak for the first time, to the reality of the man that stepped on to the shores of Bergway not too long ago. Even had almost convinced himself that the attraction and affection he was feeling was one-sided, no matter what his friends and family told him on the matter.

Isak had been so wild to behold that first day. Hair long and braided, back rigid, covered in leather from neck to toe. It had made Even feel nervous in a way that he hadn’t felt before. Not when they’d sent the letter to Greenmark suggestion an alliance between the two nations sealed by the wedding of King Jonas and Even. Not even when King Jonas had suggested Isak instead due to his own engagement with Princess Eva. 

Not even then. When Even had felt the same kind of elation running through him as he feels now, just at the idea of becoming Isak’s husband. That it could become a possibility for him. 

Even turns onto his back, tries yet again to calm himself enough to sleep, tries to pull his mind away from Isak, although it seems impossible. He knows he’ll never be able to rest with Isak’s kisses on his mind. 

No matter how he wills himself to think of tomorrow’s tasks or of the waves breaking shore or of the latest list of items added to their stores, his treacherous mind keeps providing him with images of Isak’s kiss-raw lips, of his soft eyes darkened with passion, of the steady grip of his hands on Even’s waist and neck. 

He watches the squares of light cast by the light of the moon through his windows slowly creep along his walls, over his floors and bed, and in the end he gives into the restlessness.

Surely, there are worse things to keep you awake at night than the memory of kisses you shared with your husband.

\--||--

It’s even more enjoyable now, picking Isak up after practice.

Now that he  _ knows, _ it’s easy to spot the things others have seen a long time before he did. Like when he arrives without letting himself be known, watching how loose Isak looks, how he smiles with Mutta and Sana, how others take to the things he’s teaching them. Isak’s good at what he does, there’s no question about it. Even shudders to think of how Isak became good at it, but then inevitably Isak notices him and he straightens, puffs up his chest, an immediate blush on his cheeks that never ceases to make Even giddy. 

The way Isak looks at him, with an intensity unlike anything Even has ever known; a kind of scrutiny no man could possibly withstand.

Watching Isak leave whatever he’s doing with no hesitation or apparent regret to come to Even, every time, every day, certainly doesn’t help with how fast his heart is beating.

Isak makes it hard for him to keep up appearances, to remain regal under the onslaught of all that… whatever it is that makes up Isak to make him so completely irresistible and overwhelming in every sense of the word.

If Even was a lesser man he would ignore his duties and just stand here all day watching Isak. He’s almost sorry he’s not when Isak walks towards him, that open shirt billowing in the breeze, revealing his collarbones and strong chest, and it’s all Even can do to keep still and wait for Isak to come to him. To not run across the grassy field, throw himself into Isak’s arms and kiss him breathless in front of every person here.

Kiss him until neither of them know of anything but each other, forgetting the rest of the world exists around them. 

But he stays, holds himself back, still isn’t sure enough of Isak’s affection to cause such a scene. 

He hopes one day he will be. 

\--||--

He stands there for much longer than he should watching first Isak, and then the army, leaving. Distantly he knows that they should get going, there are so many things to do now that the war is starting, but… He just can’t seem to get himself to move.

Every time he blinks he still sees how Isak’s face had hardened, how his posture had gone rigid and soldier-like again, and it’s like Even can’t breathe. Lead fills his stomach, his blood vessels, his lungs until he’s chilled from the inside out, weighed down by responsibility and the feeling of utter uselessness.

He desperately wishes he could be at Isak’s side, that they could ride off to war together, so that he would get to keep him a moment longer. He doesn’t know if he’ll ever see Isak again, and he can’t stand that thought. Pushes it away, deep and far back into hidden places in his mind and hopes he’ll never think it again.

Isak has to come back. He has to. 

His sister moves her horse closer, settles next to him so that their legs are touching. He knows it’s as much as she can offer him right now in terms of comfort, and honestly, he’s not sure he could stand anymore right now. 

He’s not crying, he’s not shaking, he’s not worrying. He’s… nothing. He’s empty inside, void of feelings, a hole for emotions to disappear into. 

And maybe that’s all he could ask for right now.

They’ve finally made their way back to the castle and the queen has sent him back to his chambers with a pitying look on her face that he  _ hates _ . He finds himself taking the long way there, detours through the long halls and corridors of the castle, through the gardens, not seeing or sensing everything, just knowing that he won’t be able to stand being alone in his room, in his bed.

A vision of Isak lying there, next to him, soft and vulnerable, open like he’s never been before crosses Even’s mind. The way Isak looked at Even, like he was the entire world and nothing else mattered. That memory makes Even’s chest clench until he can’t breathe again, and he responds by walking faster, forcing air into his lungs although it feels like it should be impossible. Although he’s not sure he wants to until Isak is back by his side.

When he finally returns to his room he ignores the food at the table, instructs his valet in helping him undress and then collapses onto the bed.

He’s assaulted by Isak when he does, of the warm scent of his sweat, of the delicate essence of the soft places on his hard body that Even has buried his face in not enough times. It takes Even a few long seconds to realize that his sheets haven’t been changed, and he doesn’t know who to thank for it, but the relief that flushes through him makes his blood flow faster. He buries his head in the pillow, pulls the blankets over his head and cocoons himself in Isak’s smell. 

Closing his eyes it’s as if Isak was close enough to touch if he reached out. Almost like he can hear those small adorable sighs Isak makes just before he falls asleep, almost like the heat usually emanating off him is bleeding through to where Even is lying. 

It’s so  _ real _ . Even’s body reacts to it, heats up and fills out, especially when he starts remembering vividly the sounds Isak made when he pushed inside Even’s body and Even rolls onto his side and puts his fingers against the place where he’s still a bit tender.

He understands that soon that tenderness will disappear, the scent on the sheets will be lost, but for now he lets himself be overwhelmed by it. So he doesn’t open his eyes. And falls asleep like that.

Surrounded by the memory of Isak.

The next day passes in a haze, this constant urge of having too many things to do mixed with the dread of time not passing fast enough draining him until he can barely stand on his feet and his sister orders him to his chambers.

He goes willingly. Once again buries his head in the pillow, chasing the faint smell of Isak, pulls the sheet over his head, somehow manages to ignore the way his chest clenches enough that he’s able to fall asleep like that.

The second day he’s not so lucky. He spends all day in endless meetings, going over numbers and budgets and people complaining of the cost of this and that, and he can’t believe the fighting hasn’t even started and they’re already circling like vultures trying to make as much money as possible on this war.

He hates it.

He barely manages to keep his temper in check, to keep his hands in his lap, fisted to the point of pain. He knows he’s going to get a headache from all the tension he carries in his body, he just can’t help it. That’s his husband, those are their men. They can’t already, before anything has started, be sitting here talking about how to cut the cost of war in order to make money. 

The only thing keeping him seated is the barely-noticeable pinch to his sister’s lips that’s telling him that she’s having the same trouble keeping still. He knows how much is on the line in this war, and he knows he needs to appear level-headed and supportive of his sister no matter what. There’s no way he can get away with huffing off in anger or even raising his voice to her council.

But god, it’s hard. It’s so hard not to shake some sense into these men. He knows the budgets, knows the numbers. So far, he doesn’t see any trouble with their funds, but at least he knows that his sister understands this as well. He trusts her not to do anything rash.

And so far, she’s never betrayed his trust.

Later that evening they dine together. The children are making a fuss and although he loves them dearly, he just really wants to head back to his chambers and bury his head in his pillow. Or rather, Isak’s pillow. 

Sitting here surrounded by his family makes the absence of Isak seem that much more apparent. It’s like a physical ache collecting in his chest, right next to his heart, and he has to fight the urge to rub at the spot to try to soothe the pain there when he knows there’s nothing he can do about it. Except to wait. 

He feels his sister looking at him, feels her worrying about him, but he doesn’t really know what to do about it. So he keeps quiet. 

“We expect Mikael back in two days,” she says and takes a sip of her wine. Even finally looks at her as she continues. “I think it will be good for you to have some company, Even.”

“Yes,” he says and tries to smile at her reassuringly, but with how her frown deepens he’s sure he’s not convincing anyone.

“Even…” she starts, sighs and puts down the glass like she’s getting ready for a big speech. About how worried they are, how she wants him to pull himself together. To not make this a repeat of how it was when their parents died.

“I’m fine,” he says to stop her. She looks at him with a frown on her forehead, eyes squinting like she doesn’t believe him. “I’m fine,” he repeats.

The room is quiet, everyone looking at him like they’re daring him to say anything else.

He pulls himself together, straightens his back, pulls the posture he’s known since he was a little child on like a well-worn cloak. He smiles, feels his lips stretch unconvincingly, but he does it nonetheless.

“I’m fine,” he repeats a third time.

Maybe if he says it enough times he’ll be able to convince all of them.

Maybe he’ll even be able to convince himself.

He gets back late, much later than he’d planned for. Much later than he’d wanted. He arrives in his chambers, fire still going, candles lit strategically for him to orient himself. His valet is ready for him but Even dismisses him. He just wants to be alone.

He’s restless tonight, the ache in his chest growing more and more insistent, and when he finally settles in front of the window he gives in to the impulsion to rub it.

It doesn’t help anything. Like he knew it wouldn’t.

He stands there, watches how a few people still hurry across the courtyard, watches a stable boy cross it with a horse, a merchant pulling a cart. And he can’t help but wonder - how life can continue without much change, how all these people still go on and live their lives, how the sun still sets, when for him everything has stopped.

He’s drifting, wants the war to start so it can be over soon, wants it to never start so no one will get hurt. Wants desperately for Isak to come home to him again, unscathed. Safe.

He wants Isak to win the war. 

He  _ needs  _ him to win the war. The alternative would be unbearable.

He stands there watching the life of the castle finally die down completely until it’s empty with only the occasional visitor. Stands there as the moon paints long, heavy shadows on the cobblestones until he can barely keep standing.

Only then does he undress, carefully putting his clothes aside for his valet to deal with tomorrow, only then does he give in to the pull of his bed and the promise of Isak.

He wants it and he doesn’t want it. He needs it like the air he breathes, the reminder that Isak is real, that what they have is real. That he really was here, sleeping next to Even in this very bed. Sharing space with him. But on the other hand, Even dreads it. Knows that the reminder of Isak will only deepen the hurt in his chest, this ball of misery growing inside of him like a molten iron threatening to melt its way out of him. 

He lies down, turns to bury his nose in the pillow Isak was using. And that’s when he notices. 

It’s gone.

Isak’s scent is gone. 

The sheet and blankets are crisp and freshly washed, smelling clean and like sunshine.

Even scrambles for the other pillow, sits up in the bed and buries his head in that as well, chasing any remnants of Isak. When he finds none he pulls the pillow covers off, hoping that Isak has left some sort of mark not easily washed off on the pillow itself.

But there is none. 

Everything is clean, 

He sits there, frozen to the spot, clutching the empty pillowcase and pillow to his chest, unable to comprehend what has happened.

He should’ve told someone, should’ve said to his valet that no one was to wash the sheets, no one was to move anything. He should’ve guarded this small memory left behind by Isak more closely. Should’ve stood guard over his bed to make sure that nothing would change.

But he didn’t. He didn’t realize just how easy it would be to erase Isak, to make him even more of a memory, growing more distant with each passing second. 

The ball in his chest grows, doubles and triples and quadruples until it feels like he can’t breathe, like there’s room for nothing other than pain and hurt and loss and fear in his chest, threatening to overtake his entire body.

For the first time since Isak left for war, Even feels grief overtake him. Grief over the time stolen from them, grief over how this will change them. He lies down, buries his head in the pillow again but this time for a much different reason; to cover his gasps and sobs as he finally gives in to the emotions overwhelming him. 

Tears fall, wet the pillow that absorbs all until it’s so wet that it can take no more, and even then Even keeps crying. Now that he’s finally started the tears seem unstoppable.

Isak is gone.

Isak is gone.


	2. The War

Even buries himself in work after that. Can’t stand being alone, can’t stand sitting still, can’t stand a moment’s peace.

He needs to constantly be moving, to read, talk, walk. He takes it upon himself to check the stocks, the horses, the progress of the smithies constantly working to feed the needs that will surely arise of the army. 

He ignores the worried glances the queen sends him, his valet, his counselors. 

It’s easier like that.

He’s in the middle of a meeting about the supply of meat for the army when he’s interrupted.

“Your Highness,” Mikael bows to him, a smile already stretching over his lips, ready to cast off the formality as soon as possible.

“My Lord,” Even replies and stands up. “We’ll resume this another time,” he tells his counselors as he dismisses them and then proceeds to ignore their sighs of relief as they pack up to leave them in record time.

When they’re alone Mikael says, “Even,” and pulls him into his arms.

Even goes happily. Stays for a long second, buries his head in Mikael’s neck to soak up the comfort he offers before he pulls back.

“Welcome home,” he says, keeping his hands on Mikael’s shoulders, soaking in the attention and happiness radiating off Mikael.

“It’s so good to be home,” he says. And hugs Even one more time.

\--||--

“It’s been five days,” Even says, runs the blades of grass through his fingers, concentrating on the rough texture. 

Mikael is sitting next to him on the grass. They’re both overlooking the surrounding rolling hills, the occasional house scattered throughout the valley, the low hanging sun.

“It’s only the beginning, Even,” he says.

Even feels Mikael’s burning gaze on him, but he doesn’t return it. Keeps looking forward, afraid that he won’t be able to have this conversation if he looks back at Mikael.

“When do you expect they’ll reach the pass?” Mikael asks, probably sensing Even’s hesitation.

“Any day now. We have scouts constantly reporting the progress of Queen Sara’s army, our best guess is that the fight will start within the week.”

“They’re close.”

“Yes.”

Even still doesn’t want to think about how close they had gotten to surprising them. How if it wasn’t for Sonja they wouldn’t have known until it was perhaps much too late. 

“So now we wait,” Mikael says. 

Even nods. “Now we wait.”

The silence stretches between them. A silence that once would’ve been comfortable but that time and circumstance turned awkward instead.

It grows until Mikael clears his throat. “I’m sorry I wasn’t able to attend your wedding.”

Finally Even looks at him. 

“You were missed, but you didn’t miss much.”

Mikael frowns, but before he can ask Even continues, “Isak was very nervous. He’d overheard me with Sonja and thought it to be a sham marriage.”

“Oh no!” Mikael looks exactly how Even imagined he would. “But you talked to him and set him right?”

Even smiles, looks down at the bushel of grass in his hands, runs it against the pads of his fingers again. “No. I didn’t realize until much later.”

“Even…” Mikael sighs. But then he smiles a bit, nudges Even with his elbow, says, “Only you.”

Even smiles, can’t help it when Mikael does, but it’s not a true smile. It feels stiff and uncomfortable on his face and he knows that Mikael notices. 

“For the longest time I didn’t think we would become more. More than husbands on paper and in name, estranged and cold towards each other. I kept hoping it would become more, kept hoping that he would finally learn to  _ see _ me, but I didn’t realize that I had that misunderstanding working against me.”

“But he did? Come around?”

“Yes,” Even breathes, his first real smile in a good while breaking through. He remembers the wonder in Isak’s eyes when he was presented with the ribbon, remembers the heaviness of his lids when he’d looked at him as they were sitting next to each other in Even’s bed, remembers the cadence of his breaths as he slept next to him.

Remembers how differently their first touches were to the last ones they shared. 

“Yes. I love him and he loves me.”

Mikael puts his hand on Even’s, squeezes briefly until Even looks at him. “I’m so happy for you. You deserve it.”

Even ducks his head. Mikael’s complete loyalty and devotion are always something that will make his body settle with relief. 

“Thank you.” 

The silence stretches between them again, only this time it doesn’t grow strange. This time the quiet is familiar and good, a reprieve from the cacophony of thoughts living inside Even’s head lately. 

“He’ll come home, Even.” 

Mikael sounds so sure, so confident. It makes it easy to believe him, to put his faith in that when everything else is so hard to have faith in.

“Yes,” Even sighs.

He cannot bear to think of the alternative.

\--||--

Having Mikael with him proves a great distraction. He’s with him constantly, always shadowing Even, following him wherever he goes, always ready for a discussion or some advice.

Even understands what he’s doing, but to be honest he doesn’t care. He’d rather have Mikael with him like this than be alone. Maybe that’s how Mikael is feeling too.

The days pass slowly in this way, with Even doing what he can to make sure that they’re ready for the war to come, with the queen working miracles on their allies and new partners, with Mikael giving invaluable input and providing a comfortable distraction from the fears of what lies ahead.

Every day without news, without anything happening, works to slowly drive Even more and more mad. He knows the war is about to happen, could happen at any point, and every day that passes without it happening almost makes him long for it. He feels incredibly ashamed for wishing for it, for hoping this stalemate to change, but he can’t help it. It seems the entire castle is affected by it too, people growing more and more short of temper as the days pass, more and more tight with anticipation of what’s about to happen. 

And Even... feels so incredibly useless.

Part of him wishes he was there with Isak, standing next to him, holding his grandfather’s sword himself. Ready to fight for his people, for Isak, for his sister. 

The other part of him, the reasonable, sane one knows that he wouldn’t survive even an hour in a fight. That doesn’t mean it sits right in his stomach to just let this be dealt with by others, no matter how capable those others are. Especially compared to him.

That coupled with the constant ache of missing Isak is enough to make sleeping incredibly difficult.

He’s sure he’s not the only one lying awake every night, tossing and turning, dreading and hoping for the war to finally start.

But somehow it still manages to catch him by surprise when it finally does.

\--||--

Even had been a mess since the first rider had appeared at the castle, informing them that the armies had finally started fighting. That they were holding their grounds for now, even though the Northern army hadn’t arrived yet.

Imagining Isak fighting against that big of a force, with two men to each of them, had been devastating. How could they possibly be able to hold them off until they weren’t alone in the fight?

Other riders had arrived, one with news that the Northern army was only a day away, another with news of many wounded and dead at the pass, but that they were still holding their ground.

Even had longed for news, for something to happen, but now that riders have finally begun arriving, he finds that he almost doesn’t want to know. He’s so scared, scared that they’ll lose, that everything will change. Scared of what this will mean for his people and his sister. For him. For him and Isak.

His mind is a mess of worry and anxiety, the knowledge that right now, right as he’s sitting at this table eating a full lunch, Isak is out there fighting, slicing into his enemies, leading the army with Sana. 

Maybe he’s wounded. Maybe he’s injured so he can’t fight. Maybe he’s….

No, Even steers his thoughts in a different direction, needs something to distract him. He has something to do that he’s been ignoring for quite a while, and now that the wait for more news is just as unbearable as no news at all, he figures he might as well use that as a distraction.

\--||--

He doesn’t quite know how to feel. He fights the urge to shuffle his feet, to fidget, tries to keep his body still and poised.

She doesn’t look as good as he remembers, even though she’s not kept in the dungeon and even still has her chambermaid with her. Her hair is still done up, her dress a vibrant purple, and objectively she still looks very, very pretty. But her skin is grey and there are bags under her eyes. This wait hasn’t been kind to her either. 

He doesn’t let it affect him, he knows what worry can do to a person. 

“Your Highness,” she says and curtsies, deep and respectful in a way that’s so unlike the Sonja he knows. Gone is the playful tilt of her neck, the teasing brightness in her eyes. 

She doesn’t even look at him as she curtsies. Or when she stands up again, head down, fingers locked in front of her, posture stiff and unnatural.

He looks at her, guilt and anger and grief mixed into one. Joined with relief. Relief that she didn’t participate in the betrayal of his family, relief that he’s visiting her here at one of the castle’s chambers on house arrest instead of in the dungeon, where the rest of her family are kept for a few more days until they’re executed.

He wants to ask her how she’s doing, just because that’s how he would normally open a conversation, but he’s not sure he wants to know the answer to that question anymore. So instead he says, “I hope everything is to your liking.”

It’s a question, but at the same time, it’s not. 

She finally looks up at him, eyes sharp before she lowers them again and answers, “Yes. You’re very kind to me, Your Highness.” 

There are so many things that he wants to ask her, things he wants to say to her. He wants to know how long she knew of the betrayal, wants to know everything she does. He knows that his sister’s deputies have been talking to Sonja and have gained quite a bit of information out of her. And although he trusts her not to have worked actively against them, he’s still not sure she’s told them everything she knows. 

“I’m sorry, Your Highness, but...” Sonja asks, voice meek and quiet, hesitant, like she’s not sure she’s allowed to speak.

He gestures for her to continue.

“My family,” she says, glances up at him for a brief second before she continues, “Are they still alive?”

Even swallows. “Yes. For a little while longer.”

He watches the grip of her fingers turn white, watches as her bosom heaves, but doesn’t offer her any consolation. He understands that she grieves her family, but they threatened to destroy everything that’s ever made him happy. He cannot offer her condolences.

“You understand what’s to happen to you?” he asks, wondering how much she knows already. He wouldn’t mind being the one to tell her if she doesn’t.

“Yes, Your Highness. I’m looking forward to the convent. It’s very kind of Her Majesty to allow me to spend the remainder of my days there.”

She swallows and he hopes that she sees it as the olive branch the offer is meant as. 

It would be so easy, so justified, to let her die at the hands of the executioner too. But he’d begged his sister not to, begged her to find a use for Sonja, a way to survive. 

They have too much history between them for him to find peace with her death.

“Your information was invaluable, Sonja. I hope you’ll live a happy life there.”

She nods. Clears her throat like she has more to ask him, a gesture so familiar that his chest pains with it. She looks up at him again and finally keeps her eyes on him, somewhere on his chin. 

“You gave him a ribbon?”

He knows that that’s not really the question she’s asking, but he nods anyway. That answers the other questions she’s not asking anyway.

“I’m glad. I hope he makes you happy, Even,” she says, her eyes sliding over his face like she’s realizing this is probably the last time she’ll ever see him. “I really do.”

He looks at her, really looks at her. Takes her in, remembers for a little while all the hopes and wishes for a future he used to have with her, how he wanted her for his wife, wanted to spend every day and every night with her.

But now… now there’s nothing. Except maybe a bit of gratitude that she came to them when she did. 

He says, “Goodbye, Sonja.” And doesn’t look back as he leaves.

\--||--

He’s with the queen when they get word, a harried-looking servant passing the queen a note about what’s to come. He watches her read it, watches her become pale, watches her hands start to shake as her lips get pinched.

And then she looks at him, eyes wide and scared, a look so private that he stops breathing until she starts to speak.

“Wounded are on the way.”

He slowly starts to get up.

“How many? Who?”

She rises with him, reaches for him as it to console him but he takes a step back. Doesn’t want to be consoled right now.

“It doesn’t say.” 

He takes a step back, is already in the courtyard in his mind, preparations running through his head.

“We’ve prepared for this, Even,” she says and then finally puts her hand on his arm, squeezes gently. “Go, brother. Go help in any way you can.”

He nods and then leaves.

He’s standing in the courtyard along with the others - waiting, passing excruciating second after second, curious and afraid and anxious.

What kind of horrors is he going to see? Will he be able to stomach it? Will he be of any help?

_ What if Isak is among them?  _

He rids himself of the thought, tries to tell himself that Isak is too good a soldier, has too much to fight for. That he’s still alive. He’s still well.

He has to be.

And that’s when the gate to the courtyard opens and the space is flooded with wounded men.

Even can barely breathe, let alone think. 

He’s running from one cot to another, supplying water, bandages, tools, holding hands, talking and praying and consoling where he can.

It’s not enough. It doesn’t seem like it could ever be enough.

There’s so much blood, so much pain. So much misery.

He sees brave men scared, scared men brave, sees more intestines than he ever wished he would in an entire lifetime. But he doesn’t let it stop him. He visits every man, looks at their faces and their wounds, comforts the ones ready to pass over into the next life before he moves on to the next cot.

He’s almost ashamed of the relief that fills him when he realizes that Isak isn’t among them. A relief so hard and sharp that he forgets to breathe, forgets himself, stands there with his eyes closed, shaking,  _ exhausted _ , until he’s overcome with the need to be alone, just for a few seconds, just to get his bearings again.

Mikael finds him there, inside the only room he could find that wasn’t occupied by dying people. A moment of quiet and peace to let the knowledge that Isak is still out there, still  _ alive _ , sink in. 

“Even?” 

Even turns to him, finally opens his eyes and doesn’t hide the tears running down his cheeks. He doesn’t have to hide for Mikael.

“He’s still alive.”

Mikael smiles at him, a small sad smile like he knows and understands. He takes a step towards Even, an aborted movement that Even completes as he steps into Mikael and hugs him tight, happy to feel Mikael hug him back.

“He’s alive.”

The tears may be streaming down his cheeks, but it’s a weird mix of happy and sad that is causing them. He’s not sure exactly how to describe what’s going on inside him, too many emotions floating around demanding attention for him not to be overwhelmed by them.

He knows he’s being inappropriate, knows that he shouldn’t be happy right now, not with the people outside dying and wounded. But he lets himself have this moment, lets himself feel the relief, after having been able to barely breathe from panic for so long.

He knows that it’s a panic he’ll feel again and again until the war is over. He just hopes that it’ll end in a way that will relieve the panic and let him breathe again.

He hopes he’ll never find Isak among the soldiers returning to the castle in this way.

He pulls away from Mikael but keeps a hand on his shoulder. He wipes his eyes, sniffles, and then steels his shoulders, poise regal and efficient again.

“Well. Let’s go,” he says. 

Mikael nods at him and opens the door for them, hangs back to let Even leave first. He spends the rest of the day a solid presence nearby, which Even is grateful for. He understands that there’ll be a time where wounds like these and watching men die won’t be as foreign to him, but right now it’s all he can do to keep himself together. To appear strong and useful for the people lying on the cots that need the kind of help he can provide.

It’s a long time before Even returns to his bed, and by the time he does he’s too exhausted to worry about how the bedspread only smells like himself.

\--||--

The next morning, before eating his breakfast or performing any of his duties, he sits down and writes his first letter to Isak.

He doesn’t tell him how much he misses him, although he’s pretty sure Isak will be able to tell anyway.

\--||--

“Tell me about him,” Mikael says, throwing a stone down the hill they’re sitting on. 

It’s a rare, small moment of peace and quiet. One they’ve stolen among duties. But Even feels stretched thin, tired and weary, and he’s grateful for the reprieve.

“Did I ever tell you about the first time I met him?” Even asks, suddenly pensive and feeling in the mood to share.

He doesn’t need to look at Mikael to know that he’s shaking his head, angling himself towards Even to show him that he’s paying attention. Even just keeps looking over the hills in front of him, and starts talking like that.

“It was a long time ago at King Jonas’ coronation. Isak was so different then, just coming into age. Very different from the man that showed up here years later.” Even sighs. “I remember watching him during the ceremony, I just couldn’t help myself. I don’t remember the first thing about King Jonas or what was said or done, but I remember how happy Isak looked.”

What he doesn’t say is how that sight had haunted his memory ever since. He’d noticed Isak right from the first time he saw him, coming out of the carriage being greeted by the queen widow and soon-to-be King Jonas, Isak standing to the side. He’d looked so young and nervous, but stoic at the same time. Something about how he held himself there, how he looked Even in the eyes seemingly unimpressed, had done something to Even. 

He’d kept an eye on him after that. And the first time he saw Isak light up in a smile, noticed how that changed everything about him, how that made him seem like someone else entirely, Even wanted nothing more than to have that smile directed at him. Because it had been directed at Jonas.

Even spent the rest of that visit trying to get Isak to smile that smile at him.

Even wasn’t much to look at back then. Not really. He was too tall and gangly, hands and feet and limbs growing much too fast for the rest of his body to keep up, and his skin wasn’t as smooth as he would’ve liked. So he admired from afar but kept trying to find Isak alone, trying to come up with something to talk to him about. 

But Isak was always around Jonas, smiling in his presence. Alert and attentive, a constant support for his friend, when Jonas was probably nervous, no matter how little he showed it. Maybe it was because of Isak he was able not to.

Even never did work up the courage to talk to Isak during that visit, more than the occasional greeting. He had left with sorrow in his heart and a memory of Isak that kept lingering, even throughout the years. And when the first stories of a Greenmarkian commander were being whispered in the corners of the court, when his sister got news of great wins and violent deaths, Even had a very hard time reconciling that Isak with the Isak in his mind.

The Warlord, they called him.

Even had mourned the smiling boy of his dreams, but still held on to the hope that he’d still get a chance to see Isak smile at some point. 

“I didn’t know you’d seen him before he set foot here in Bergway,” Mikael says, interrupting Even’s thoughts. 

Even nods. “Although he was a very different person when he came here. It almost felt like seeing him for the first time, anyway.”

“War changes you.”

“Yes.” Even sighs. “It does.”

Mikael puts his hand on Even’s shoulder, a short squeeze that tells Even that he understands what Even’s not saying and Even is so grateful that Mikael knows him well enough that he won’t say it out loud.

“I need him to come back,” Even whispers. 

“He will. He’ll find a way home to you, Even. I’m sure of it.”

Even hopes so. He desperately hopes so.

\--||--

It’s not like it gets easier tending to wounded soldiers, pretending he’s not looking for Isak in every face he sees yet desperately hoping he won’t find him. Although sometimes he almost wants to - for the certainty, a selfish want to have him injured just enough that he’ll stay home with Even. That he would be safe. A thought that makes Even feel so guilty that he can hardly breathe.

It doesn’t get easier. But it does become part of Even’s everyday life.

It seems like all he does is visit wounded soldiers - holding their hands as various limbs are cut off, or helping them through their final moments - interspersed with never-ending council meetings, watching the bags under his sister’s eyes grow larger with each passing day.

He’s pretty sure he’s not looking much better.

It’s horrible watching war change their society, how it’s mainly older people and kids manning the booths in the square now, how there are fewer smiles and laughs in the streets. He sees his own anguish mirrored in the faces of his people and he wishes he could reassure them, tell them that everything was going to be as it once was again. Except he’s not sure it will.

He writes letters to Isak, tells him about the meetings and the politics, venting about the men in their council happy about the war, happy about the money they’re making. He hates that these people benefit from war, that they can’t feel the effects as much as the rest of them.

He does what he can to contribute, does his duties no matter how far from the war he is. No matter how much he wishes he could contribute in other ways.

Every day passes like the previous one, he gets up, goes through the motions, goes to bed - the monotony almost enough to dull him into a false sense of security.

Until it all changes.

Until one day, he recognizes one of the faces of the wounded soldiers.

\--||--

It’s a day like any other. Even gets up, leaves his room a little while later dressed and clean, although his standards for that have lowered a great deal since he’s working with wounded soldiers, there’s simply no need for fine fabrics or vivid colors there. 

He meets his sister and her family for breakfast, but it’s a subdued affair, the only ones talking really are his nephews. Finally, enough time has passed that he can leave, and the queen reminds him of a later meeting he’s to attend and then he’s off.

There are rumors that there had been a battle during the early hours of the morning, just as the sun gave enough light to distinguish between friend or foe, so he’s sure it’s only a matter of time before new wounded soldiers arrive.

He eats his small lunch next to Mikael, who looks just as exhausted as Even feels.

“Do you want to go out later? When we’re done here?” Mikael asks like he does almost every day.

This day Even nods, he could use some distraction today from this horrible monotony he’s finding himself in.

“I have a meeting later, we can go after.”

They barely have time to finish their meal before there’s the shout signaling wounded men approaching. They leave the comfort of their bench still chewing, Mikael heads for the gates while Even heads for the healer’s room to put on an apron. He knows he’s going to be covered in blood before the night comes.

The smell of blood is almost overwhelming, along with the stench of dirt and piss and shit. The sounds are so loud, screams of pain, of stress, the rhythmic movement of saws cutting through flesh and bones.

Even is almost numb to it now. 

He’s on his third limb removal of the day, holding down the woman who’s having her leg cut off at her knee, trying to comfort her as she screams over the pain. He wishes there was something he could do, that he could heal her, remove her pain, make her sleep through it. But there’s nothing he can do but stand here and try to comfort her. The best he can do is hope that she’ll pass out eventually from the pain. 

He looks over to the side, can’t stand to see the panic on her face anymore and that’s when his eyes find him.

It’s a battle to keep standing, his entire body rebelling against standing still, to not just let go of everything and go to him, but his sense of duty is too great for him to do that. So he keeps standing there until the healer is done.

When he finally gets there, Mikael has beaten him to it.

“Magnus,” he greats and puts out his hand. “I would say it’s good to see you, but under the circumstances, it’s not really.”

Magnus laughs and takes his hand, pulls him down for a hug and Even closes his eyes to stave off the wetness that threatening to spill from them as he hugs Magnus back.

“Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes,” Magnus says and laughs again when Even pulls back. “Although you’re a bit more toned down than you were the last time I saw you.”

“Yes, well, dealing with blood on a regular basis will do that to you.”

Magnus’ smile dims and his voice lowers, deepens, when he replies, “Yes. It will.”

Even reaches for Magnus’ shoulder covered in a bloody cloth. “What happened?”

Magnus waves him off, pulls back a bit as he says, “It’s nothing, it’s just a flesh wound. Just a small run-in with a Finnian axe.”

Even can’t help but smile back at Magnus’ antics, at how happy he seems to be to see Even even though his shoulder must hurt so bad.

“A flesh wound, huh?”

Magnus just waves, like Even’s concern is not warranted, and says instead, “I didn’t want to go back, the surgeons there could have taken care of it but Isak insisted.”

Even freezes at the mention of Isak’s name, his entire body shutting down as the pain and anguish flood him with the thoughts of him.

“Is he well?” Even asks in a low and hushed voice, like he’s afraid if he’ll ask any louder he’ll jinx his good health.

“Yes,” Magnus answers somberly. “Yes, he is well. He is magnificent on the battlefield, bringing you and your kingdom glory every day.”

It’s exactly what Even wants to hear but at the same time, it’s not. He’s just not quite sure how to ask Magnus for the information he really wants. But before he can open his mouth Magnus leans closer, close enough that Even can hear what he says even though he’s whispering. 

“He misses you.”

Even flushes from head to toe, unable to hide how relief pulls at the sides of his mouth and when Magnus leans back his eyes darts to his smile, with fondness in his eyes.

“What’s wrong with this one?” A healer interrupts the moment, stopping Even from asking Magnus all the questions he’s carrying to ease his worries. 

He steps back, lets the healer take over, trusts him to take care of Magnus, but before he can put too much distance between them Magnus shouts over the shoulder of the healer, “Come find me later, we have much to talk about. I’ve known Isak since he was a boy too.” And then he laughs, a big booming, high-pitched laughter too infectious to ignore before it turns into a pained hiss when the healer starts to peel the bloody cloth off his shoulder.

Mikael looks at Even with a wide smile, a happy surprised gleam to his eyes that makes Even feel almost giddy.

“This is going to be such fun,” he says and bumps Even with his shoulder.

Even can’t help but agree, even the council meeting seems bearable now that he knows he’s going to be fed stories about Isak later.

\--||--

“--and then Isak told the guard that his name was Adrian and as soon as she looked away he ran. And Jonas was waiting for him on a horse but they were both so drunk that we were afraid they’d fall off the horse before they would escape--”

Magnus is holding court, surrounded by people and booming laughter, the ale flowing almost as liberally as the stories Magnus tells.

It’s so freeing. Sitting here surrounded by happy people, warmed by the fire and the ale and the company, listening to silly stories about the man he loves from one of his oldest friends. 

Laughing.

Even isn’t sure when he last laughed like this, is sure that he’s going to feel it in his cheeks tomorrow, the muscles in his face too used to frowning instead. But it feels too good for him to stop.

Magnus is heaven-sent.

Even goes to bed that night feeling lighter than he has in months, happiness settled into his chest like warmth. It’s not until he lies there, sleepy and a bit drunk that the emptiness of his bed gets to him. He reaches across the blankets, barely registers the softness of them over the way they hide the cold spot beside him that should be filled with Isak.

He can’t wait for this war to be over. Can’t wait for Isak to lie there next to him, falling asleep and waking with his arms around him, the first and last thing of his day kissing him.

It takes Even a long time to fall asleep that night, no matter how exhausted he is and how happy he had felt earlier.

\--||--

It’s a welcome distraction having Magnus around. His wound isn’t too bad, a deep cut that luckily didn’t hit anything too vital but will scar quite a bit. The healers are still up in the air with how much it will affect his range of motion, but Magnus doesn’t seem to pay them any mind. 

“I’ll be fine,” he says, and “I’ve had worse,” while he’s already counting the days for when he can go back to the battlefield.

One day Even asks, “Why are you so eager to go back?” Because no matter how much he wishes he was there to see Isak and make sure he was safe, he doesn’t really understand this impatience for battle.

Magnus smiles at Even. It’s indulgent but not belittling, a kind of smile that Even has never seen on anyone except Magnus.

“I get how it looks to you, but I’m not eager for the violence. I’m eager to get back and know that I’ve done all I can to keep my friends, you and your people alive.” He looks at Even briefly before returning his eyes to the horizon, to where the battle is taking place far away.

Even nods. “I wish I could do that too.”

That sense of being useless, of being a man unfit to fight when he’s the descendant of a long line of strong, fighting men, it’ll always be a shame he carries. He’s glad he’ll never be king because he can’t see how his people could respect him when he can’t even fight for them.

“You’re doing just fine here,” Magnus says, puts his hand on Even’s shoulder and squeezes a bit, a small comfort offered when Even should be the one doing the comforting.

But Even takes it. 

At this point, he’ll take any comfort he can get. 

\--||--

Magnus leaves for the front three days later. His shoulder is healed just enough that he can move it all the way in a circle and he’s been practicing with his sword all day yesterday. Even pretended not to notice the way Magnus winced his way through it.

He understands why Magnus is leaving before the healers would want him to.

“Take care of yourself,” Even says in parting, with Magnus already sitting on his horse surrounded by soldiers heading back to the front with him. 

“I’ll take care of him too,” Magnus says. Adds, “I give you my word.” His face more serious than Even has ever seen it before.

The lump in Even’s throat makes it impossible for him to respond, so he nods instead and watches Magnus and the others ride away.

And desperately hopes that won’t be the last time he’ll see him again.

\--||--

There’s a weird duality, Even finds, to the time after Magnus has left.

Every day returns to what it used to be; more wounded men and women, more meetings, more muted dinners with his family. But at the same time, it doesn’t really feel quite the same. He’s not as tired, not as weary. Magnus had felt like a much-needed break in a monotony he had no idea of how to break. Had felt like having a little bit of Isak with him again.

But it doesn’t mean that it’s easy.

The news from the front is scarce, Even hasn’t received any letters back from Isak yet, no matter how many he’s sent the other way, and he’s trying to convince himself that that doesn’t mean anything. 

He’s not sure it’s working.

“We were ambushed,” one man says, his stomach a festering wound that Even knows by now means that his days are numbered. “I’m one of the few that managed to escape.”

Even spends the rest of that day focusing on anything that keeps his thoughts at bay, anything to keep his mind off what that could mean. So many questions he doesn’t know the answer to, and maybe isn’t quite ready to either.

“We’re finally moving forward, retaking parts of the mountain,” another soldier says a week later. She’s limping, her foot twisted in a way that still makes Even’s stomach turn, knowing what the healers will have to do to set it right again. 

“A victory?” Even says, finds Mikael’s eyes over a healer’s shoulder. Mikael looks optimistically wide-eyed, probably the same as Even. 

She shakes her head though. “No, I don’t think we can call it that. Not yet. But at least we’re moving, instead of this eternal back and forth of taking and losing the same 50 meters over and over again.” 

She looks dirty and tired and bloody, but it’s easy to see how the weariness gives way for some optimism as she talks. 

She’s making Even feel hopeful too.

He hates that he’s so easily affected by the moods of others, but he can’t help but cling to any kind of news offered to him.

The reports the queen receives match the news he hears from the wounded soldiers well. Nothing definitive, no big wins or losses. Nothing that can give comfort to the people that their sacrifices have been worth making. 

Even sees it in the faces of his sister, in the faces of the people in the castle and on the streets. People are weary and ready for something to happen. Ready to get news of their first win.

Even just prays that that’s what the news is going to be about.

\--||--

It’s hard waking up. It’s light out, he can hear the noises from the courtyard, people bustling around, knows that he should get up, get going. Knows that there are people relying on him, things that he should be doing.

But that doesn’t make it easier.

It’s like his eyes are glued together, his mind syrupy and slow, and the bed is so warm and he’s so tired. He allows himself to lie there for a few more minutes, turns over onto his other side and buries his head under the blankets.

He’s not sure how long those few minutes actually are, but he’s pretty sure he dozes for a bit, knows that the sun has definitely changed its place in the sky from how the shadows have changed in his room.

Everything in him hurts. He misses Isak, misses his life as it used to be, misses being happy. He doesn’t want to get up and have another of those days, of seeing wounded soldiers and hearing nothing. No letters, no real news. Just work and misery.

And now he’s feeling guilty for thinking that, for not wanting to play his part in this war. His part is just a small part, pretty insignificant when it gets down to it, he shouldn’t complain. At least he’s not there on the frontlines, at least he has food on his table every day, a roof over his head.

It’s the guilt that finally gets him out of bed. He might not really be ready for a new day, but the days keep coming no matter what.

\--||--

He’s finally sitting down for a late lunch.

He’s tired and exhausted and it’s like his bad mood is mirrored by the weather. It’s dark and grey today, a low mist hanging over everything, making it wet and uncomfortable being outside. It’s starting to get cold now, really cold, frost covering the leaves and the grass in the morning, the sun barely warm enough to defrost everything during the day. 

He tries to be outside during the day as much as he can, sucking up the low rays of sunshine, watching the days grow shorter and shorter.

He’s exhausted.

He doesn’t like to admit it, would never say it out loud to anybody, but he’s getting to the point where he at least has to admit it to himself. But he’s a prince, people look to him for guidance, he knows he can’t show anyone how much this war is getting to him. 

So he ignores the concerned looks from Mikael and his sister, ignores how bone-tired he feels. Straightens his back, and eats his breakfast, lunch, and dinner, no matter how little appetite he’s got left.

He’s just biting into his bread when one of his sister’s servants shows up to fetch him. He looks excited, cheeks red and eyes wide, as he tells Even that he’s wanted with the queen.

Even leaves immediately, doesn’t spare his half-eaten food a second thought.

When he gets there she has a fire in her eyes he hasn’t seen in a long time. There’s a bustle in her office, people running around, scribes writing letters, counselors and servants all over the place. In the middle, there’s her. Clearly the center of it all, looking regal and happy and he can’t help the smile that creeps up on him seeing her like that.

Or the blossoming hope inside him.

“Good news?” he asks, getting her attention.

“Brother,” she says and gets up from her chair. She looks so alive, even her clothes look more colorful and her joy is infectious. “Very good news.”

She passes something off to a servant quickly before she rounds the table and gets close enough to put her hands on his upper arms.

“There’s been a break-through. They’ve pushed back the Finnian army so the pass is free. It’s a victory, Even. A big victory!”

She’s shaking his arms as she says this, so happy that he laughs with her, lets himself be pulled into a tight, brief hug. The first hug they’ve shared in a good while.

“And this arrived for you.”

She leans over her desk to pick up a letter that she hands to him. There are smudges of mud on the edges, the paper frayed and fragile looking. But it doesn’t matter, nothing matters. All he can see is Isak’s handwriting on it, the delicate swerve of the letters that spell out  _ Even. _

He stops breathing for a few seconds, dizzy with relief and happiness and anticipation. Finally, a word from Isak. A letter he can read over and over and over, keep under his pillow to remind himself that Isak is really still out there.

“I know you want to go read it now, Even, but we have so much work to do.”

He stares into her eyes, clutching the letter tightly in his hands. He doesn’t want to, he doesn’t want to do anything but run to his chambers and read the letter. But he understands his commitments, understands that he’s not allowed to just do what he wants to.

He knows he should pass the letter off to a servant to put in his room for later, but he’s loathe to separate from it. So he holds on to it tightly as he lets himself be swept into the work at hand.

It’ll have to wait.

\--||--

Even takes a deep breath, steels himself. He’s finally on his own, in his chamber, food in front of him, a fire crackling beside him warming him up. He’s exhausted, his bed calling for him, but there’s no way he’s sleeping without reading Isak’s letter.

He opens it with shaking fingers and holds his breath as the paper unfolds. 

_ “Dear husband,” _ it starts, and it’s enough for Even to cover his mouth with his hand trying to keep the sob inside. 

He doesn’t succeed.

He’s a mess by the time he’s finished, tears cascading down his cheeks as he finally lets everything out that he’s been holding in, and he misses Isak so much. It’s a physical ache inside him, a longing so great there’s not room enough in his chest for it. His stomach feels like lead, and it’s the sweetest torture reading Isak’s words. Seeing his neat, small scrawl, noticing how Isak has clearly done his best to write it in a way that Even would understand. 

He runs his fingers gently over the words at the bottom.

_ “Your forever devoted husband - Isak.” _

The curve of his I, the softness of his k. God, he wishes for this war to be over, for them to be together again.

For now, he’ll settle for this. Because he has to.

But he’ll do whatever he can to make sure this war doesn’t go on forever. Even if it means working himself into the ground.

He just wants Isak back. He just wants them to be safe again, his people, his queen,  _ them. _

This letter, these news, it’s enough to give him hope. He can feel it blooming in his chest despite his best efforts to keep himself back. He doesn’t want to be disappointed, doesn’t want to look back at this and think himself a fool for hoping for change. For better days. Who knows how long this war will go on.

Except - it feels good to hope again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As some of you know, I've just started a new job, and on top of that I'm moving next week. I'll do my best but I probably won't be able to answer comments as quickly as I usually do. I hope you guys will be patient with me. 😁 Just know that I'll still read them and each and everyone of them will help ease my stress. 😅😅❤️❤️
> 
> One more chapter to go, see you next Thursday.


	3. The Victory

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Final chapter! I hope you guys like it. :)

There’s a buzz in the air, an energy vibrating through everything, filled with excitement. Even can barely keep still.

He’s standing at the top of the stairs, only his years of training keeping him still when everything in him is telling him to move. His sister is standing next to him, a smile on her face, a flush on her cheeks that’s so unfamiliar that it makes him smile too.

The cheering in the distance grows louder and closer as the returning soldiers come closer, upping Even’s restlessness. Isak’s so close, he can almost taste it.

He’s still amazed and incredibly thankful for how the people are embracing Isak now. How they’re seeing what Even’s seen all along; how brave and perfect Isak is. It makes his heart beat faster knowing that Isak’s just as loved now as Even had hoped.

This last month has been unbearable. Ever since Queen Sara surrendered time has stretched uncomfortably long. Seconds feeling like hours, days feeling like months. There has been so much work, negotiating, settling all the deals they could, making sure they got the most out of the surrender without depleting the people of Finnia completely. It’s been a taxing time.

But… knowing that Isak was done fighting, knowing that it was only a matter of settling what needed to be settled and then he would be on his way home, that was almost more unbearable than being kept apart by Isak fighting. That at least had purpose. Even once again feels that old resentment bubble up inside of him against his sister, at how she hadn’t allowed him to go to Isak, or to make someone else finish up so Isak could come home.

Isak’s here now though.

The cheers are growing close now, almost at the gate of the castle and his sister throws him a teasing smirk. He tries to hide how it makes him flush but then Isak passes the gate and Even is incapable of thinking about anything else.

Everything stops in Even. He’s short of breath, heart pounding in his chest, fingers itching to touch, legs eager to go. Isak looks so good. He’s smiling and when his eyes find Even, Even’s heart bursts with happiness. All these emotions fighting inside of him, joy, restlessness, impatience, but he keeps standing, keeps still. Does what he’s supposed to.

But then Isak breaks free of the procession, kicks his horse and gallops to the stairs, jumps off it while it’s still running in a move that almost steals Even’s breath away and makes him even more eager to get Isak alone. When Isak starts running up the stairs towards him, eyes fixed on him, impatience written all over his every feature, it’s impossible for Even to keep still. 

They meet somewhere in the middle, crash into each other like it was inevitable. They’re kissing before Even realizes that they’re touching, uncaring of the crowd beneath them and the queen above them. 

For once, Even doesn’t care.

He just wants to stay here forever, pull Isak tighter and closer and never let go. Isak must feel the same because there’s a desperation to his touches that makes Even groan.

When they pull apart Isak takes him in his arms. His mouth and nose are breathing hard against Even’s neck and it takes Even too long to realize that Isak is breathing him in. He’s so warm, so alive. Smells like dust and dirt and sweat, but he’s real and he’s home and he’s his. It’s the best smell in the world, Even decides then and there.

“Come on,” Even whispers and leans back, catches Isak’s eyes and his blinding smile. Notices his flushing cheeks and how  _ happy _ he looks. 

Even wants to drag him away, wants to find some deserted place in the courtyard where he can be alone with Isak. Where he can touch him properly and finally learn him all over again.

But for now, he reluctantly tears his eyes away from Isak and turns towards the roaring crowd below, raises their hands and laughs at how that just increases the cheering to a point where it’s impossible to hear anything but the joy beneath them.

Isak turns to look at him, wearing a matching smile, eyes sparkling, and Even thinks that for once he knows exactly what they’re feeling. If he could, he would cheer just as loud as them.

\--||--

Even silently closes the door behind him, retreats into their bed chamber as quietly as he can. 

Isak is a lump underneath the covers on the bed, the only sounds in the room his light snoring and the crackle of the fire.

Even sighs.

It’s been like this for four days now. It’s rare to find Isak out of bed and when he does leave it, Isak just sits there staring at nothing. 

He’s barely eating, barely speaking. Even’s the only one who can get through to him, and Even’s guiltily grateful that Isak craves his touches so much.

It seems the only thing he does is sleep and even though the doctors have assured him that it’s perfectly normal, that Isak’s just adjusting to life outside of war, that he’ll get back to normal with time and patience, Even can’t help but worry.

Magnus had told him that Isak would come out of it, that he was always like this after returning home. He had looked at Even with a kindness in his eyes like he was grateful for Even worrying, and had put his big hand on Even’s shoulder and assured him all would be well again with Isak.

Even hopes that’s true.

He sits down in the bed next to Isak, slides his hand over Isak’s unruly hair, long and unbraided. Unkempt. Even likes it long, likes the native braids Isak carried with pride before he had it cut to fit in, except the condition of his hair now isn’t something Even thinks Isak would feel proud of.

Even is grateful that Isak lets him see him in this state. He realizes how vulnerable Isak is like this, how it’s a sign of the trust Isak has for him. But at the same time, he knows that if Isak doesn’t start eating soon he’ll have an even harder time recovering. His wounds aren’t healing as well as they should. 

Even worries whether that extends to his internal wounds too, the ones of his mind.

“Isak.” 

He’s still being very gentle, knows that Isak isn’t that hard to wake, as he looks for signs of Isak waking up.

There’s a groan, a small movement, a smack of lips.

And Even knows that he’s grinning like a fool, but he can’t help it. He still can’t believe that Isak is finally home with him. No matter the condition he’s in, this is infinitely better than being separated.

“Isak?” Even tries again, stroking his hair again.

Finally, a show of life. Isak hums as his eyes flutter, but they stubbornly stay shut.

But Even knows that Isak is paying attention now.

“I have food coming, please eat with me.”

He keeps his voice low, intimate. He doesn’t want it to sound like he’s ordering Isak up but at the same time, he’s growing desperate for Isak to eat, for Isak to get out of bed.

When Isak doesn’t really answer, just buries his head deeper into the pillow, Even repeats, “Please.”

He kisses him gently on the cheek, the only part of Isak’s face he can reach, and then gently nudges him until Isak rolls over onto his back and finally looks up at Even. His eyes are bloodshot, he still looks so tired even though it seems all he’s been doing these last few days is sleeping.

“Is it already evening?” Isak says, voice rough with misuse, blinking against the low light of the room.

Even strokes his hand and keeps his voice low as he says, “Yes. You slept the whole day,” and doesn’t add “again” even though it’s hard not to.

Isak looks away from Even, eyes on the ceiling as he swallows once, then twice, and Even is anticipating the excuse that’s about to fall off Isak’s lips because that’s what Isak does, but Even doesn’t really want to hear it.

“Please, dine with me. I’ve been looking forward to doing that all day.”

It’s probably the easiest way to get Isak out of bed, making it seem like he would be doing it for Even instead of Isak, but Even is done playing fair. He just wants some life back in Isak, just wants him out of bed. No matter how much he understands why Isak needs sleep, he also needs to eat.

Isak’s eyes slowly find their way back to Even and he looks at him for a while before he says, “Well, then.”

And Even finally releases a breath he didn’t know he was holding.

\--||--

He expects Isak to be quiet, he always is these days, but he finds he cannot let the silence grow between them like he’s done the other nights. So Even chatters like he never has before. He tells Isak about how the mood of the entire city and kingdom has lifted, how lively the streets are again now, how the summer is on its way with new flowers blossoming every day. He talks about how he saw his sister smile this morning, one of those carefree big smiles, how he hadn’t realized until then just how long it’s been since he saw her smile like that. He talks about how the make-do hospital at the castle is growing smaller every day, as people leave, healed, and ready to go home. 

And Isak looks at him all through this, bloodshot eyes steadily lingering on Even’s, attentive, interested, while he takes small bites of his food. At least he’s eating. And it seems that the more Even talks, the more Isak eats.

So Even keeps talking.

Later, when they’re lying next to each other, the room dark but for the small fire heating the room and Isak’s weight heavy in the bed next to him, Even finds he can’t sleep.

Isak’s breath is heavy, but not sleep heavy, so Even suspects that Isak isn’t sleeping either. 

He turns on his side towards Isak, eyes sliding over what he can see of his profile in the low glow of the fire. He wants to reach out and touch, and he knows that Isak would let him, but more than anything he wants to let Isak know he can do the same. 

The silence becomes oppressing as Even watches Isak’s closed eyelids flutter, watches his chest rise with every breath, watches his hair spread out on the pillow. 

He’s still the most beautiful being Even has ever laid his eyes on. 

The words are pressing in his chest, clogging his throat and his mouth, making his tongue heavy. There’s so much he wants to say, so much he’s thought of saying while Isak was away, but somehow he hasn’t been able to say them. Yet. Maybe the darkness will ease the passage of them over his tongue.

He takes a deep breath to steel his nerves, and whispers, “Isak? Are you awake?”

Isak takes a deep breath too, eyes opening, his face turning towards Even.

“Am I keeping you awake?” he whispers back, already putting the blame on himself and Even can’t have that.

“No,” he says immediately, but then backtracks, “Yes. But not--” He closes his eyes in desperation, annoyed with his inability to word his thoughts. 

“Do you want me to go sleep in my own room?” Isak asks, his face turned back towards the ceiling, his voice still soft but an edge has crept into it, a distance that Even wants to eliminate right away.

“No! No, I definitely don’t want that.”

He reaches for Isak, puts his hand on Isak’s arm, slides it down until he reaches his hand to intertwine their fingers. Relieved when Isak tightens his fingers around his.

“I know you’ve done this before, know you’re as used to it as a man can be, but I still worry.”

Isak turns to look at him but doesn’t speak. Emboldened by the attention, Even carries on. 

“I worry that you’re not eating enough, that you’re sleeping too much, that you’ll--” _ waste away _ , he stops himself from saying, but only just barely. “Let me help you.”

“You  _ are _ helping me,” Isak insists, turns to the side as well to face Even. “But I’m-- I’m not the man I was Even. I don’t know… how much of me is left.”

Even moves closer, he desperately wants to pull Isak into his arms, wants to take all his pain away even though he knows he can’t. He feels impotent with how little he can actually do to ease Isak, but he at least wants to try. This isn’t the first time Isak has made statements like these, and Even knows he can’t erase them from Isak’s mind, can’t really make it better for him, but he can damn well listen.

“No matter what is left, it’s enough. You’re enough, Isak.”

Isak looks at him in that way he does, where it’s like his eyes can see through Even, can see all of him. He looks amazed and it never ceases to make Even flush a bit. 

“I’m afraid I’m not. I’m afraid you’ll tire of me. I don’t want you to worry about me.”

“I’m your husband,” Even says and moves even closer, pulls their entwined hands up over the cover to kiss one of Isak’s knuckles. He lets it rest against his lips as he says, “I’m always going to worry about you. It’s part of being married.”

There’s just enough light in the room for Even to see how one side of Isak’s mouth lifts, like he’s close to smiling, and Even has never seen anything more lovely in his life.

He loves him. With everything that he has, his entire being. There’ll never be any other for him and he wishes he could make Isak understand that.

“I’ve spent the war taking care of soldiers, let me take care of you now. Let me help.”

Isak leans in, slow and deliberate, lets Even decide if he would want this, like Even would ever want anything else. His lips, when they finally reach Even’s, are warm and dry, gentle. Gentle in a way that Even knows Isak hasn’t been in a while and Even kisses him back eagerly. 

He’s missed this. He’s missed being close to Isak, to his smell and the taste of him. Isak kisses him like Even’s air, like he’ll die if he doesn’t and Even takes it. Lets Isak do whatever he wants, take what he wants, he’ll be what Isak needs him to be. 

They stay like that for a long while, long enough that Even loses count. The kisses never deepen, it’s just them suspended in time, eyes closed, lips wet and sore and it’s perfect. Even could spend forever doing this.

When they finally pull apart Isak settles on Even’s chest with his face against Even’s shoulder, Even’s fingers running through his soft hair. They’re quiet, the only sounds in the room the crackling of the fire and their combined breathing. It’s slowly lulling Even to sleep even though he wants to stay awake, wants to pet Isak’s hair until he’s asleep first, and just when Even’s on the verge, Isak starts talking.

“They don’t warn you what it does to one’s soul to take a life. Kings and commanders always make it look easy, make it look like it’s nothing, but every soldier knows that it isn’t. Knows that it does damage to your soul that not even time can fully repair.”

Isak turns his head further into Even’s shoulder and Even puts his arm around him, the other staying in his hair. Showing him that he’s listening.

Ignoring the tear that rolls down Even’s cheek and into his ear.

“I don’t think I’ll ever be able to get rid of the smell of blood stuck in my nose or the sounds of the cries of the soldiers I’ve killed. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to forget how it feels to strike my sword into the skull of an enemy, to see the light go out in their eyes, and just forge on to kill the next and the next and the next after them.”

The pillow under Even’s head is getting wetter with every word Isak utters, but he ignores it. He stays there, arms around his husband, and he  _ listens.  _ No matter how much it hurts him.

It’s the least he can do.

“When I’m fighting I can’t think about these things, I have to push them away or I can’t go on. I wouldn’t be able to protect you, and that was all I thought about during those months. How I had to come back to you, how I had to endure for the queen and kingdom and for  _ you _ . Always you. So I did, I did all those unspeakable things one hopes one never has to do, all in the name of good and righteousness. But the more I did it, the less good and the less righteous I felt.”

Even wants to take him and hold him and never let him go again. He wants to tell Isak that he never has to kill again, that he’s done his job, they’re protected, they’re safe. But he keeps quiet because he understands that that’s a promise he’ll never be able to make. 

Isak continues, seemingly oblivious to the battle raging inside Even.

“I just need a bit of time to let myself feel it. If I’m ever to become someone who could be a husband to you again, I need to let myself experience all those things I couldn’t during the war. I need to… learn to feel again if that makes sense.”

“You’re good. You’re so good. Take all the time you need, husband. I will wait forever if that’s what it takes,” Even whispers, his voice shaking from tears. 

Isak raises up on his elbow and looks down at Even, a gentle hand on Even’s cheek wiping away his tears.

“It won’t last forever. I’ll come out of it eventually, I promise. I always do.”

Even turns his head and kisses the palm of Isak’s hand. He’s so alive, so warm. Here. Finally here. 

“Magnus said the same thing.”

Isak smiles. Small and amused and private. It looks so good on him. 

“You should listen to Magnus, he’s always right. Just don’t tell him I said that.”

Even huffs out a small laugh that Isak kisses. He hums against Even’s lips and Even has to clench his eyes shut to not shed more tears. There’s a deep ache in his chest for Isak, small fissures in his heart from Isak being in pain. But he’s happy to bear it, would gladly bear everything that Isak will give him if it helps Isak. 

Isak kisses him again and then lies down on his spot on Even’s shoulder. Even keeps his arms tight around him as he listens to Isak fall asleep, as sleep doesn’t come easy for Even that night.

He’ll endure that too.

\--||--

After that night Even decides to take the advice of… everybody and lets Isak be. Clearly he knows best what he needs, and if sleep and peace are what it takes, Even definitely won’t deny him that. 

But he makes sure to get Isak out of bed every night to eat, makes sure there’s breakfast waiting for him when he wakes, makes sure to spend as much time in their bedroom as he can. Even if it is just to read by the fire as Isak sleeps.

Lord knows there is enough reading for Even to do now that the war is over. There are so many meetings all the time, the council trying to decide what to do with Finnia and its queen, not to mention the soldiers in their dungeons. 

No matter how much time Even spends catching up, attending meetings, it seems like he can never get on top of it. 

He definitely doesn’t envy the queen. He notices how tight the skin around her eyes is, how pinched her lips have become, a grimace he’s so used to seeing on her now that he’s almost scared it’s becoming permanent. He wishes there was something he could do for her, some way to give her an outlet, but that’s never been his place. So he does what he can, takes on as much responsibility as he can and makes sure the kingdom is running as smoothly as possible where he can.

He makes sure to spend time with her too, though. Stays behind when meetings are over, comes by for lunch with her and her family, stops by the garden to watch his nephews play. It’s on one of these occasions that he finds her on a bench nearby, watching them play as well. She looks immaculate with her hair done elaborately, make-up and dress perfect, the spitting image of their mother, but there’s something about the way her posture is a little bit less than rigid that makes him go sit next to her.

She acknowledges his presence but doesn’t offer more conversation after the initial greeting. It’s quiet between them for a long while, their attention settled on the boys and their antics with their dogs.

Even’s smiling as one of the boys falls over with a dog between his legs and he glances at his sister to share the amusement. Only to find her cheeks wet with tears.

“Margrete?” 

He turns towards her, instantly worried because his sister never cries. Especially not like this, outside, where her boys and the staff could see her. 

She delicately wipes the tears away but new ones drop from her eyes before she can dry them off.

“I was going to send them away,” she whispers.

“What do you mean?”

“I can’t believe I ever thought I could do that. That I could be without them, but… I didn’t have a choice.” She sniffles, looks lost in thought for a few seconds with her eyes on her children. “I couldn’t let Finnia take them.”

And now Even gets it. He stops breathing for a few long seconds as he briefly turns to look at them too. He’s not sure whether he’s really surprised. Not if he’s being honest. He’d want them gone too if Finnia had broken through the lines, he’d want them safe. Surely Queen Sara would’ve had them killed to end the succession of their family. 

But he understands what a sacrifice that would’ve been for his sister.

“What about Frederik?” he asks when he finally has his voice back.

“He was set to go with them.” She turns to look at Even, her tears drying, a determined set to her face as she says, “I would’ve sent you off with them as well if I had thought you would’ve gone.”

“I wouldn’t have.”

She smiles a small sad smile, puts her hand over his on his leg and says, “I know.”

She doesn’t have to say anything more, but he knows she understands now. Understands just how much she and the kingdom mean to him, how much Isak means to him.

They stay like that, her hand on his, next to each other on that bench, watching the boys play until they’re too tired to be outside anymore.

And when he leaves he feels at peace in a way he hasn’t in a good while.

\--||--

Another few days pass, full of meetings and discussions and more reading, and he’s tired and just on the verge of a headache when he finally returns to their chambers. 

He’s contemplating a quick supper, contemplating not even really bothering with waking Isak but just jumping into the bed with him, let Isak’s arms take the dreariness of the day away, when he opens the door to their champers it isn’t to find a lump in the bed in a dark room.

Instead, there’s a fire blazing and a table set for two surrounded by lit candles.

And Isak standing next to it, dressed and smiling, hair pulled back into a neat braid, looking like something out of a dream.

“You’re up?” Even asks before he can stop himself, but Isak just smiles. 

“I thought it was my turn to offer you dinner. For once.”

Even smiles back, it’s impossible for him not to.

“You don’t owe me anything, Isak. It’s no hardship. Really.”

He watches Isak’s smile fall a little, the sight of it makes him take a step forward, towards Isak. 

“I just wanted to be the one who offered something to you for a change.”

Even crosses the distance between them with fast and efficient steps, puts his hands on Isak’s waist and leans in for a kiss. Isak is trying and Even wants to acknowledge it. This is what he’s been waiting for, after all.

“Thank you. It looks delicious.” He doesn’t take his eyes off Isak as he says it and as he hoped it makes Isak smile that pleased half-smile that he loves so much and that Isak wears so rarely. He only revels in it shortly before he says, “Let’s eat!”

As they sit down Even only barely notices the servants serving them. It’s hard to pay attention to anything else when Isak is sitting there opposite him, eyes bright and a smile on his lips. He still looks tired - still has those bags under his eyes - but he looks so much better than he has until now.

Even takes great comfort in that. As well as how Isak wants to take care of him too.

\--||--

The meeting ends early for once, a relief that Even fights to keep from his features. He politely turns down his sister’s offer of lunch with her, instead opting to rush to his chambers, hoping he can spend some time with Isak.

But when he gets to the room it’s empty.

“He’s down at the training grounds, Your Highness,” Eskild says. He’s standing in front of Isak’s open cabinet, partly hidden by the cabinet doors which explains why Even didn’t see him.

“Thank you,” he says and immediately turns around and heads that way instead.

What he finds makes him pause in delight. Isak is standing to the side next to Magnus, watching a group of soldiers fight. They’re leaning in to each other while they watch like they’re commenting on what they’re seeing and Even can imagine that Isak’s head is still probably full of improvements. No matter how he should be thinking of other things.

Even stands there, watching Isak smile at Magnus, noticing how Isak is wearing that shirt, the one that billows around him and shows off his clavicles in a most indecent, gratifying way. Even wants to bury his face in all that skin, and no matter how much he tells himself that he can, that he often does, it still feels forbidden from all the time he’s stood there and fantasized about that very thing before they were close enough for him to be able to.

He’ll never be over how good Isak looks like this. His hair is tied in a messy braid, his beard making him look rough no matter how soft Even knows it is. His posture loose and relaxed, a smile on his face. Even remembers how it used to make his insides clench with longing, watching Isak be like that around others yet so apprehensive around him. When all Even wanted was to have Isak direct that smile at him.

And just when Even thinks that, Isak turns his head and notices Even, and his entire face lights up in a smile brighter than any sun. 

Even swallows against the overflow of emotions inside of him, of the helpless adoration swelling in his chest. He’s not sure how it’s possible to love this much, but he does. He really does. 

He stays and watches Isak come towards him, his strides long and sure, his thighs bunching underneath the breeches, the shirt opening even further in the wind and Even almost loses his breath watching the display that Isak makes. He wishes he was a more talented painter, wishes he could somehow take this image of Isak walking towards him, smiling and bright and happy, and put it somewhere safe for him to see forever. For all eternity to see after he was done with it. Their shared legacy; how it feels to love and be loved in return. 

That is what Isak looks like to Even.

When Isak reaches him he leans in with a hand on Even’s chest and kisses him softly before resting his forehead against Even’s. They’re breathing the same air as Isak whispers, “Husband,” and Even isn’t quite sure how he’s still standing. 

He loves how comfortable Isak is with this display of affection, loves that he was the one to put that smile on Isak’s face. Loves that he’s able to stand here, after everything that’s happened, with Isak, breathing him in, pursing his lips so that they’re kissing again. His lips rubbing against Isak’s that are slowly starting to spread into a smile that Even loves even more.

He absolutely adores kissing smiles off Isak’s face.

It’s not until Isak pulls back and looks at Even in that soft, amused way that Even realizes he never greeted him back. 

“I--, I’m--,” he starts, but then clears his throat to start over. He can’t help but smile back when Isak smile grows and grows with his inability to find words. “The meeting ended early and I’m free for lunch. You want to join me?”

Isak bites his lips, looks absolutely irresistible in a way that makes Even hungry for other things than food, and then says, “I’m almost done here, maybe another fifteen minutes. We can meet in our chambers?”

Even bites his lip as well, takes a moment to blatantly run his eyes down and then up Isak’s body, lingering at the open collar before he says, “I’ll wait here for you.”

Isak walks away from him laughing but throws him a look over his shoulder like he knows exactly where Even’s eyes are.

Even returns to the next meeting a little bit sore around the mouth and still starving for lunch, but happier than he’s felt in days.

\--||--

The valet is just about done with his hair, still fussing over a slight fold in his collar, when Isak enters the room.

Even’s knows it’s him even though he’s turned away from the door, knows better by now to turn as his hair is getting done, and he loves that he knows the sounds Isak makes well enough now that he knows it’s him. 

“Did Eskild finally let you go?” he ask, both to acknowledge Isak and to comment on the fact that they’ve been separated most of the day. He’s been waiting to tease Isak with how Eskild must have thought he was going to be hard work to dress today since he wanted so much time to do it.

Isak hums in answer but doesn’t really say anything more, completely ruining Even’s next line. He desperately wants to turn and see what Isak’s doing, but he’s even more desperate for his valet to finish. He wants to be alone with Isak.

The valet is taking forever to do his hair today, the time stretching in a way that makes Even squirm in his seat, eager and impatiently. 

“All done, Your Highness,” his valet finally says and holds a mirror up in front of him with a flourish. His hair is somehow even higher today, the curls soft in just the way he likes it.

“Thank you,” Even says and hardly takes the time to look at himself in the mirror before he turns towards Isak.

And immediately stops breathing.

Isak is… Even finds absolutely no words that could adequately describe how good Isak looks. Nothing is quite descriptive enough or fitting enough. Isak is clean-shaven, hair cut shorter but not as short as the last time, gathered back. He’s wearing blue from head to toe, Bergway-blue, and it does something quite interesting to Even’s insides to see him like that. 

Isak starts smiling when Even doesn’t speak, first it grows and grows until his face is splitting with it, but then it turns softer, less amused and more fond. 

“I hope you don’t mind me not having a beard anymore,” he says and Even can do nothing but shake his head. He wonders if his voice will ever come back, if his mind will ever be able to form words again. He feels stricken by the image of Isak, with how much he looks his part, yet how comfortable he looks.

“You look good,” Isak says, and that finally shocks Even into talking too.

“You look… Goodness.” He swallows at how inadequate he feels, but Isak’s smile just grows again and he steps in close and kisses Even.

“You look goodness too,” he whispers against Even’s lips and Even can almost taste his smile; sunshine, grass,  _ happiness.  _

He kisses the smile right off Isak’s face, needs to know if it tastes exactly how he imagines, and he nearly loses himself in it. Isak hums against his lips, opens eagerly for Even and Even can’t be held responsible for the sound that escapes him when their tongues meet.

But before they can go any further, Isak pulls back.

He’s a bit out of breath when he says, “I have something for you.”

Even pulls back in surprise but doesn’t go further than Isak’s hand on his waist allows him to. 

Isak looks a bit flustered; a flush high on his cheeks that Even wants to touch, immediately endeared and curious as to what could’ve affected Isak so. He reaches inside a pocket in his jacket and Even can’t see what he pulls out but he has an idea. And just the thought of what Isak’s gifting him has his heart racing fast enough that he can hear the rush of blood in his ears.

He’s almost out of breath with excitement when he whispers, “Isak…” without really knowing what he was going to say.

Isak clears his throat and carefully, gently takes Even’s hand, turns it over and pushes Even’s sleeve up his arm a bit. 

“I’ve thought about this many times during these last months. I’ve regretted a thousand times that I didn’t do it before leaving, regretted that you had nothing to remember me by if…” His voice falters here, a weakness that Even immediately forgives and only serves to make him love him more. But Isak is nothing if not courageous, so he continues. “I’m sorry, I--” he clears his throat again, and Even wants to help him, wants to make it easy for him but before he can say anything Isak surprises him by saying, “I love you, Even. Please, allow me to present you with this ribbon.”

He’s barely done speaking before he lets the ribbon unfold between his fingers, and he looks up at Even, eyes vulnerable and raw, his mouth set in a way that Even has rarely seen. 

Even’s heart swells in his chest in a way that leaves him speechless and out of breath, a satisfying ache that leaves his eyes a bit wet. 

“Nothing would make me happier, husband,” he answers in a low, croaky voice that he hardly recognizes, and then holds out his wrist to Isak.

If Even wasn’t so used to watching Isak he’s not sure he would ever really notice the way tension bleeds out of his shoulders, how his flush expands down his throat and neck, how his hands are trembling slightly as he starts winding the ribbon intricately around Even’s wrist, in the traditional way that parents have been teaching their children for generations. 

Even wonders who taught Isak, but he doesn’t voice his curiosity, instead he treasures the reverent silence that has fallen between them, revels in the concentration apparent on Isak as he starts tying the knot. 

Even knows how difficult that knot is, he’s spent hours practicing it as a child and more recently before presenting the ribbon to Isak, and he’s proud to see how capable Isak is with this as well. Isak’s knot looks almost the same as Even’s, showing that he’s clearly practiced behind Even’s back and Even loves him for it. Loves that he realizes just how big a gesture this is and acts accordingly.

When he’s done, Isak leans forward and kisses Even’s ribbon-covered wrist gently, lips lingering over the thin skin there until Even feels like he might explode from it, when he recognizes the mirroring of the gesture. 

It’s not until Isak pulls away that Even gets to see the ribbon properly. It’s green, the same green as Isak’s eyes. There are hardly any embellishments on it, plain except for the royal crest on each side of the knot.

“It’s perfect,” Even whispers, affected and in love and he’s not sure how he’ll ever be able to to find words for how much this means to him.

But when he diverts his eyes from the ribbon to Isak it’s to find his eyes filled with incredible fondness, a soft smile curling his lips and Even has never felt quite as loved in return as he does right this moment.

He wants to kiss Isak so badly, wants to lose himself in his arms and his mouth and his body, and it’s effort beyond belief to hold himself back.

“I have one for you as well,” he says and clears his throat from how affected his voice sounds. Isak looks up at him in surprise but Even gently grabs his wrist and runs his fingers over the worn-out ribbon there. “This one has been through unspeakable things with you. It carries a memory of a past instead of a promise of a future. I know that it’s kept you company through these last months, but I want you to look at your ribbon and think only good thoughts.”

He holds out the new one in his other hand gathered from his own pocket, the same blue and the same design as the first one he gave him, except this one has their names embroidered. 

Isak’s eyes feel heavy on him and Even knows he’s flushing too as he continues.

“I’m not asking you to forget, or to pretend the war never happened. I would never do that. But a ribbon that’s filthy with blood and misery has no place on you. You are so much more and I want you to remember that.”

He holds Isak’s eyes, their gazes heavy with meaning and Even is afraid that he’s gone too far, is afraid that Isak won’t take the gesture for what it is - a sign of love.

“I get to keep the old one?” he asks, finally breaking the silence between them.

“Of course,” Even answers quickly, his thumb rubbing another soothing circle into the delicate skin of his wrist. “It’s not unusual for a couple to change their ribbons when important events take place in their lives. When they get married, when they have children.” He tries not to blush as he says the last part, but he gives up when he makes Isak smile.

Isak looks down at the ribbon, picks it up and gently rolls it through his fingers, runs the part with their names between his pointer finger and thumb like he’s feeling it out. And when his eyes return to Even’s they’re soft and fond again and he pushes the ribbon back into Even’s hand and holds out his wrist. 

Even can feel his eyes on him like a brand, like something heavy that makes him flush and makes his hair rise on his skin. But it’s a good feeling, a very good feeling. The longer Isak watches him, watches him carefully loosen the knot to untie the old ribbon, watches him curl the new ribbon around the wrist and start in on the knot, the more heat gathers low in Even’s belly. Makes him feel ready for more, makes him want to forget about the pending celebratory party so that they can spend the rest of the evening here. Together. 

When Even is done he’s nearly panting with excitement, his entire body tense with want and he looks up to meet Isak’s eyes to see his lips parted slightly and his eyes dark and half-lidded. He looks delicious, absolutely divine. Even can’t imagine ever wanting anything else, ever  _ needing  _ anyone else. 

And he’s definitely uncertain as to how they’re going to make it through the next few hours without doing something indecent.

“Thank you, husband,” Isak whispers in a rough voice and it’s all Even can do to keep himself back.

Even’s eyes are on Isak’s lips, he watches how Isak’s tongue peeks out to wet them leaving them shiny and so inviting that Even can hardly think of anything else, and it’s a thrilling knowledge that Isak’s probably looking at his too.

In the back of his mind he knows that leaning in will be a bad idea. Their valets have spend hours on doing them up and Even just got his hair to look right. He knows that Isak will mess it up, knows that they’ll wrinkle their clothes and look definitely unregal if he gives in now. But at the same time, he’s dying to know the softness of Isak’s cheeks without the beard, desperate to know the feel of his new hair cut against his palms, wants to know what that fine fabric feels like over Isak’s bum. 

He’s nearly trembling with the effort of holding back, licks his lips over and over as if he could possibly taste Isak already on his lips and it’s a special kind of wonderful torture to see Isak look like he’s struggling to hold back as well.

Just when Even is about to give in, just when he feels himself lean forward, slightly, minutely, but with clear intention, there’s a knock on the door.

“We’re ready for you now, Your Highnesses,” his valet says through the door.

They don’t jump apart, actually they hardly move. The tension is still there between them and it would be the easiest thing in the world to give into it, even now, even with people waiting for them outside.

But then Isak takes his hand, lifts it to his mouth and says, “Later,” before he kisses the knuckles gently.

It’s a promise for more, a promise that Even is eager to make Isak keep, and he wishes he could say something suave and flirty back, but his mouth is dry as sand and his lungs are far too small for air. So instead he only nods and tries not to flush at how Isak’s smile turns filthy at Even’s incapability to speak.

“Later,” Isak repeats again and then uses the grip he has on Even’s hand to pull him along, out of the room, and then finally into the party.

He doesn’t let go the entire time.

Even is perhaps slightly more tipsy than he should be. He’s been watching Isak all night when he hasn’t been by his side, and when he has he’s had a hand on him at all times. There’s been a steady current running between them all night. Even has never lost sight of Isak, constantly distracted by the looks he’s been sending Even. Like he’s feeling it too.

The night passes agonizingly slowly even though it’s a celebration. Even’s extremely grateful for all the people attending, all the people that have returned from war. They’re all aware of the people who didn’t, but this night isn’t for that.

It’s only years of training that make Even able to carry on, to stand there and idly chatter with the people attending instead of dragging his husband off somewhere they can be alone, somewhere he can get his hand inside those tight trousers Isak’s wearing, somewhere he can get a taste of those irresistible lips-- and Even needs to pull himself together, again, as he has several times during the evening. Their time will come, now is for the guests.

If only Isak wasn’t so distracting.

“Finally,” Isak mutters against Even’s lips as he pushes him against the door to their chambers making it fall completely shut behind them. 

Even’s answer is lost in Isak’s mouth but he doesn’t care, he doesn’t  _ care. _ Not when Isak is holding him in place with his body and his lips, and even that doesn’t feel close enough.

“Come on,” Isak mutters, shifts his hands from Even’s waist to fist his shirt, and Even  _ would  _ except Isak is still kissing him, still pushing Even against the wall. Even tries to push back to get them to move but Isak isn’t having it, even makes a small disgruntled noise that makes Even smile.

Isak just keeps kissing him anyway and Even can’t help how that makes him laugh. It’s not until he does that Isak finally leans back and pulls Even with him. 

Even can’t help but laugh again in surprise and Isak huffs against his lips but it’s the good kind of huff, the one where Even can feel the corner of Isak’s mouth lift against his lips and God, Even loves him so much. He pushes his tongue into Isak’s waiting mouth, wants to taste him all over again, wants to chase those faint flavors of sweet wine and something more heavy that Even can’t quite recognize. He tries though. He gets so lost in it he doesn‘t even realize Isak is leading them somewhere until he hits his hip on the table on the way to the bed.

“Ow,” he complains but it’s faint, almost smothered by Isak’s tongue, Isak must’ve heard it though, because he pulls back just far enough that he can look at Even.

“I’m sorry, you want me to kiss it better?” he says with this smirk that makes Even’s breeches feel far too tight and makes him sweat under the heavy fabric of his coat. Isak doesn’t wait for Even to answer, just starts pulling at Even’s shirt until it slides free of his pants and then leans down to kiss Even’s hip, wet and hot and sloppy. It shouldn’t affect Even this much, Isak is just teasing him but his dick jumps in his breeches and Even can feel how wet they already are. 

Isak curses under his breath and pushes Even back into the table until Even can’t go any further, until the back of his thighs are pushed up as close as they can get, and it’s so hot. Isak keeps kissing him, those sinful lips running along the edge of Even’s pants and Even closes his eyes to how good it feels, how close Isak is to where he wants him.

Even’s just barely holding on as is, fingers tight around the edge of the table, until Isak puts his tongue in Even’s navel and Even bends over laughing.

“Tickles,” he manages to say between laughs and Isak looks up at him, a surprised smile on his face, big enough to show those perfect gapped teeth, and his eyes are so green and wide and beautiful.

Even can’t help but put his hand on Isak’s cheek, gently rub his thumb over his cheekbone, his laugh completely forgotten when Isak turns his face enough that he can kiss the inside of Even’s palm.

There’s that hopeful desperation again, clawing its way under Even’s skin, settling deep inside his bones until it’s like it’s part of his very essence. 

“Get up here,” he mutters and pulls at Isak until he does, until he straightens and crashes into Even in a messy, perfect kiss. Even just wants to be closer, wants more, so he pushes back, fists his hands in Isak’s shirt and finally just turns them around until it’s Isak against the table and not him.

Isak makes a very satisfying sound at that, one that makes Even smirk, pleased at how Isak’s not the only one that can show a bit of strength. He puts his hands under Isak’s ass, pauses to admire just how perfect he fits there, and then he lifts Isak up on the table and makes room for himself in between Isak’s legs.

When their groins meet Even can barely stand it, he’s so hard and so on edge, so eager and impatient that his dick feels overly sensitive, even through the fabrics separating them.

He suddenly can’t understand why there are so many layers of clothes between them, how they haven’t even managed to get a shirt or a coat off by now, and he knows he has to rectify that mistake immediately. 

He pulls at Isak’s shirt, gets it free of his breeches even though they’re still kissing and he doesn’t want to stop kissing, just grunts annoyed against Isak’s lips when the shirt doesn’t cooperate to slip off Isak’s shoulders.

“The coat,” Isak laughs against his lips, and it’s so silly that Even can’t help but laugh a little bit as well.

He finally pulls back to help Isak push the coat off his shoulders and as soon as that’s pooling on the table, Even starts in on Isak’s shirt, gives up halfway when he remembers that he’s still wearing all his clothes himself and starts in on that instead.

Isak huffs amused when he sees what Even is doing, and Even wishes he didn’t have quite that much to drink because his shirt has way too many buttons, and he knows he’s making a mess of his beautiful coat even as it lands on the floor behind him.

He only manages to unbutton two buttons on his shirt before Isak gets his own shirt off and then reaches for the bottom of Even’s to help him out. Even does one more before Isak makes an annoyed sound deep in his throat and then proceeds to just use the grip he has on the shirt to pull it apart, sending buttons flying across the room.

Even’s not watching where they land, he doesn’t have time for small things like that when Isak is sitting there in front of him, eyes blown and lips puffy and red, his face tilted up towards Even as he silently asks for another kiss.

Even couldn’t deny him one even if he wanted to when Isak looks like that, and Even really, really doesn’t want to, so he surges forward for another kiss. He loses himself in it for a bit, forgets about stripping them or moving them closer to the bed. His hands find Isak’s thighs and he can’t help but pull Isak closer when one of his legs hitches around Even’s thigh. 

Just the movement of Isak’s thigh muscles through the fabric of his pants is enough to make Even feel dizzy with want. He pulls away from Isak’s mouth to continue kissing along the line of his jaw, down the tendon of his throat, lingering where Isak’s pulse is hammering against his lips, and Even swears he can feel that throbbing all the way down to his toes curling in his shoes. 

Isak moans, tilts his head to make room for Even, his hands fisted in Even’s shirt like he’s also forgotten that they were undressing.

Oh. Naked. More bare skin sounds perfect right about now, Even decides, and reluctantly lets go of Isak’s thighs to quickly push his shirt off his shoulders. His mouth doesn’t even leave Isak’s throat as he does, but when their bare chests finally meet he has to linger there, mouth open and breathing wetly against the delicate skin of Isak’s throat, his mouth full of the taste of Isak’s sweat and the scent from his earlier bath. 

Even wants to lick it off him. 

Isak’s hands are constantly moving, running over the skin of his back, grabbing onto Even’s neck, one hand sliding all the way up Even’s hair as the other slides down all the way to his ass. 

“I love how you feel.” Isak’s voice is rough and low, gritty like sand, each word bumping along the ridges of Even’s spine until they add to the fire pooling low in Even’s stomach. 

Even almost chokes on the sound he makes, it’s too raw, too vulnerable for what they’re doing, but he can’t help it. It’s so good to be like this again with Isak, this close. Hearing Isak laugh and pant and moan. Feeling him eager against his body and as he thinks that, he licks a stripe along the line of Isak’s pulse just to feel his heart beating again. 

He’s so alive.

Even turns his head until his forehead rests against Isak’s shoulder, too overcome to do anything more than slide his hands up over Isak’s thighs, over the swell of his ass, over the rough, patchy scars on his back until he reaches the top of his shoulders, his neck, right where the hairline begins, right where Isak feels so delicate and breakable.

“I love you.”

“Even,” Isak whispers and then pulls him up until they’re kissing again.

Even kisses Isak like he’s fragile, a soft rub of lips against each other, but Isak’s not having any of it. He deepens the kiss, kisses Even back with warm, wet lips, until Even is pliable and opens easily against him. The second their tongues meet Even has forgotten the moment of vulnerability between them as everything is overshadowed by the need to touch, to be touched. It  _ aches  _ in him.

“Let me--,” he pants against Isak’s lips, not really sure what exactly he’s asking for, except something,  _ more. _

“Anything,” Isak answers and pushes his tongue into Even’s mouth, kisses him like they’re already fucking and Even needs to move things along right this second.

With their mouths still attached, he pulls Isak down from the table, walks him backward towards the bed while fumbling with the lacing on his breeches. Isak is doing the same to Even and every time his hand slips against Even’s very hard dick, his entire body heats up even more. 

Even has just unlaced Isak’s breeches enough that he can get his hands inside to palm his glorious backside. He doesn’t even push the breeches down, just goes straight to his ass, wanting to feel him where he’s warmest.

They fall over on the bed, a tangle of limbs and laughs, and somehow Even manages not to let go. He’s already spreading Isak, a finger swiping over Isak’s hole and his dick twitches with the need to get inside. 

He can already feel it, how tight and warm and wet it’s gonna be. A snug home just for him that he wishes he could spend eternity in. 

“Yes, that. Let’s do that,” Isak sighs when Even starts to rub with intent with Isak stretched out on top of him, a solid, heavy weight of comfort and bliss.

Even’s not sure when they stopped kissing, only that they have. Isak looking down at him with heavy-lidded eyes full of want and almost as much desperation that Even feels. He starts pushing at Isak’s breeches, gets them down over his ass so he has more space to roam, hating that they didn’t quite manage to get naked before reaching the bed. There’s no way he’s moving now, not even to get naked himself.

“I still have shoes on,” Isak laughs, and it’s ridiculous, they’re ridiculous, acting like horny teenagers instead of the grown men that they are. But honestly, Even wouldn’t have it any other way.

“So take them off.”

Isak laughs again and then somehow extricates himself from Even, rising from him one body part at a time until he’s hovering over him, his arms and stomach and all that skin on display and Even nearly chokes with it. He doesn’t even fight the urge to reach up and touch, his hands following the long lines of Isak’s body, feeling how warm and soft and rough he is. A dichotomy of a man; a man of war and peace, a man of killing and making love, a man full of scars yet still so soft. And he’s all his.

Isak lingers there, just looks down on Even, letting him touch as much as he wants, and Even can’t look away from him. He’s so beautiful, the way his eyes darken the more Even touches, the way he bites his lip, the way his mouth softens at the corner as his smile widens. 

And just before Even has had enough distance, just as he’s about to give in and just pull Isak down, shoes and breeches be damned, Isak finally pulls away and gets off the bed.

He pulls his shoes off, pushes down his breeches until he’s naked and then he climbs back into the bed, back on top of Even where he belongs.

Even would spread his legs for Isak, except he’s still wearing his breeches and he whines a bit at the realization.

“In a minute,” Isak mutters just before he kisses Even again, and Even almost immediately loses sight of that promise, gives himself over to that kiss and whatever Isak wants him to do, whatever Isak decides for them to do,  _ whatever, _ Even wants that too.

Isak releases his mouth, kisses down his jaw and his neck and Even immediately turns his head and gives him room, the softness and wetness of Isak’s mouth leaving rapidly cooling trails behind that set Even on fire. He’s so distracted that he’s stopped touching Isak, has somehow put his hands on the bed instead, fisting the blanket they’re laying on until his knuckles turn white from it. Isak keeps kissing him, his tongue leaving a trail over his clavicle down until Even can feel him breathe on one of his nipples and he lets go of the blanket to move his hand but only makes it a few centimeters before he has to grab a hold of it again. 

He’s so overcome with Isak showing him this kind of affection, he loves it, wants him to linger there all day over him, covering him, slowly drive him crazy, but at the same time, he wants Isak to go faster, to be as overcome as Even is. 

He loves it when they both lose control.

He’s moving his hand again, moaning as Isak’s tongue licks over his nipple, a flash of want shooting from there directly to his dick that’s so, so hard by now, leaving wetness everywhere inside his breeches, making him  _ ache _ with it. 

“The slick, get the--” he says, but the words get lost in the moan that Isak’s tongue pulls from him working his nipple. Even never knew it could feel like this, that he was even this sensitive there before Isak. 

But his inability to finish his sentence makes Isak huff out a laugh against the sensitive skin and Even would laugh back if that feeling didn’t make goosebumps rise all over his skin, sending ripples of hunger throughout his entire body.

“What did you say?” Isak teases and now it’s finally Even’s turn to huff with humor. He lifts his head to look at Isak to find him looking back at him, with his eyebrows raised and his mouth twisted into a wicked smile. 

“Stop teasing me,” Even laughs but Isak’s smile only turns more wicked and he puckers his lips to blow a delicate line of air over Even’s nipple until Even loses all strength in his neck and falls back on the bed.

“You devil,” he pants as Isak rises over him, stretches out and answers back, “Mm-hmm. You hate it when I do that.”

Even laughs, the alcohol in his blood making him feel loose and free, the man above him making him feel loved and liked. It’s a heady combination, but one that Even is quite sure he could grow used to with time. One that he will enjoy growing used to.

Isak leans back and once again grabs Even’s attention. His hair is already wild, and although Even’s not quite sure when it happened he’s sure he was the one to have ruined it. Isak looks down at him with a devious glint in his eyes, a teasing tilt of his smile and his hands are working with something but Even doesn’t spare that any thought or time, not when Isak is sitting there on top of him, naked.

God, he wants him so bad.

There’s a sound of something slick and then Isak reaches behind him. Even watches his eyes widen minutely before he exhales roughly, his mouth grows slack, and Even looks down just in time to watch Isak’s dick jump against the fabric of his breeches. 

Oh.

_ Oh. _

Even suddenly realizes what Isak is doing and he can’t help the bolt of want that shoots through him, pools at his groin, tightens his balls and his dick until it’s barely bearable anymore.

“Are you--” 

He stops there, not sure how he’s supposed to get the rest of that question over his lips, not sure he would survive saying those words. He’s already so close, already filled with a need for what Isak is offering him. What Isak’s getting ready to give him.

“Yes,” Isak laughs, clearly loving Even’s difficulties with language.

Even lets go of the bed, runs his hands up over the hair on Isak’s thighs, until he’s grabbed hold of his waist. Says, “Hurry up!” in a way that makes him sound every bit as eager as he is.

Isak’s lips fold into that delicious smirk again, the one that makes Even feel like his insides are boiling, and repeats, “Yes.”

Even doesn’t want to let go of Isak, instead opts to move his hips in a way he hopes will make his breeches miraculously fall open. He quickly realizes he has to move, has to do something besides what he’s doing because all he’s managing to do is almost knock Isak off him. And his breeches stay stubbornly right where they are, still covering his dick.

“Even,” Isak laughs above him making Even laugh too at how ridiculous it is, that Isak is naked on top of him, fingers buried inside himself and Even is still lying here with his clothes on, fighting a losing battle with them. “Let me just--” Isak starts to say, but then laughs again when Even tries one more time to get his breeches off with his hips and he’s almost knocked over.

“Keep still,” Isak says, followed by a slick, greasy sound that makes Even tighten his grip on him, that makes Even start to sweat in his  _ hair,  _ and Even doesn’t even care that the fingers of Isak’s one hand are greasy as he starts in on the laces of the breeches, opens them enough that when Even lifts his hips Isak can slide them right down to his thighs. Even’s dick pulses as it meets air, glistening in the air, wet and hard and ready. Even’s not sure there’s enough air left in the world for his lungs, not with how hard it’s getting for him to breathe.

He makes a sound, something pulled from deep inside his chest, something needy and eager that leaves him flushed and feeling a little bit stupid but Isak huffs out a laugh and leans down to kiss him. Like he doesn’t mind, like he maybe even likes Even like this.

Even almost can’t believe Isak is real, that he gets something like this. He’s not sure what he’s done to deserve it, but he must’ve done something right because Isak’s tongue is in his mouth, Isak’s ass is under his palms, Isak’s familiar scent is in his nose, and when Isak leans back he impales himself on Even, just takes him in in one gracious slide until he’s sitting there. Ass to thighs, Even buried deep inside until his whole world narrows down to this.

There is nothing else in the world. There is only the feel of Isak relaxing around him, of Isak’s breaths moving him just enough that Even’s feet curl in his shoes. He feels sweaty, too warm in the clothes that are still on him, but it doesn’t matter. Even the sound he makes doesn’t matter, something foreign, something unfamiliar that claws its way out of Even’s throat and into the space between them, leaving Even feeling vulnerable and overwhelmed.

And where Isak before was all wicked smiles and contagious laughs, he’s now completely still. Just sitting there, a hand on Even’s chest, his mouth red and wet and inviting, eyes half-lidded as he’s staring at Even, his eyes slowly sliding down from Even’s eyes, lingering on his mouth, down his throat all the way down his chest. The way Isak watches him feels like a caress, like he leaves a belonging in his wake, leaves an impression all over Even that claims him as his.

“Isak,” Even moans, too overcome to say more, his mind scrambled by how tight and wet and warm and perfect Isak feels around him, how he squeezes him with every breath he takes. When really all Even wants to say is “That’s right, I’m yours, take what you want, take  _ everything.” _

He doesn’t close his eyes to the intensity of Isak’s stare until Isak starts moving. The first undulation of his hips, a small movement back and forth that makes Even somehow slide even deeper, forces Even’s eyes shut, forces Even’s head back into the pillow under him. 

All his senses are heightened, maybe it’s from his eyes being shut, maybe it’s from how it’s them being together like this, with Even’s desperation and want for Isak mirrored back in every movement Isak makes, in every sound that leaves him. 

Isak’s moans are loud, like he doesn’t care to hold back, doesn’t care who can hear them making love and that just makes Even louder in turn. 

Isak’s other hand slides up Even’s chest, up his neck until it lies perfect and heavy around his cheek, thumb on Even’s cheekbone and his little finger nestled behind Even’s ear. As Isak starts up a rhythm his thumb brushes over Even’s cheekbone, a caress so small and delicate, a complete contradiction to the way his body is moving against Even, to how every movement takes Even higher and higher, pushes him closer and closer towards the inevitable end. 

Even doesn’t want it to end, never wants it to end.

But he needs to see Isak, needs to look him in the eyes, needs to see just how he’s watching Even when he’s touching him that gently.

When Even finally forces his eyes open, it’s to a sight that rips open his chest and makes his heart swell with emotions.

Isak is like art - his body moving in a way that makes Even’s mouth water, makes his hands itch to immortalize him in some way. The low light from the fire makes his skin look soft and golden, his hair like the corn on the fields in the summer, his mouth as red as the berries of early spring. Even could spend eternity watching him and somehow never be finished with it, he’s sure of it. Isak’s so lovely, so free from the shame that made him so cautious before, has seemingly let it all go for Even. He lets Even see everything, sits up straighter when he notices Even moving and Even could take advantage of it, could let his eyes run everywhere over Isak’s body, like he’s inviting him to. But he doesn’t. He can’t. He watches Isak’s eyes instead, watches how the sounds pour over his lips, watches with rapt fascination as Isak takes pleasure from him, and gives easily as much pleasure back.

Even didn’t know before, couldn’t possibly have known. That it could be possible to love someone quite as much, that a human body would even be able to contain so much emotion, so much affection.

He wants to move, wants to worship Isak, wants to show him that he’ll take whatever Isak wants to give him, no matter how small or how big. He’s enough, he’ll always be enough. But he’s kept back by his breeches restraining his every movement, holding his legs together. 

So he sits up instead and puts his arms around Isak, hugs him tight until it’s not so much Isak moving as  _ them _ moving. Together.

Isak is panting in his ear, a low pleased hum vibrating in his chest bleeding through to Even’s until it feels like they’ve always vibrated like that. Like their love is accompanied by a sound, by a tune that’s all them, that no one else will ever hear.

Even might be a prince, but he is readily conquered by Isak. Willing and easy, eager even. He’s never felt more regal than he does at this moment, with how Isak gives back, lets Even know that he’s just as conquered by Even.

Their bodies are moving in harmony, it’s unhurried and graceful, the slick slide of sweaty skin and soon the wet sounds of lips against lips, not kissing, but sharing breaths and air, sharing sounds of pleasure and elation.

Even feels this coupling in his soul, like a binding of spirits, of futures, a promise to stay together for as long as humanly possible. He’s nearing the finish line, his body poised at the precipice of giving over, of letting go, his groin aching with imminent release.

Isak’s hands are in his hair, keeping him close, but Even turns his head against it until he catches Isak’s wrist, feels the ribbon against his cheek and then lips. He rests his mouth against it, lips catching on the delicate fabric and the soft skin underneath, and he clearly hears Isak’s breath hitch.

“Touch me,” Isak pants against him and Even scrambles to comply. 

Isak sighs in relief when Even pushes his hand between them and wraps it around Isak’s hardness, moves it in tandem with how Isak is riding him. Isak is so wet here too, Even’s stomach smeared with the evidence of his desire for Even, of his pleasure, and Even swipes his thumb through it, spreads it out until it aids in the slide of his hand over Isak’s dick.

Isak’s sounds reach a new crescendo, moans and pants and bitten off words that don’t render any meaning in Even’s ears, except for how they somehow do. Even can hear how Isak is telling him he loves him, is telling him he loves them together like this. He can sense it from the way Isak moves against him, how he’s squeezing around him, how his dick jumps in his fist with every movement he makes. 

Even didn’t realize he’s using the hand with the ribbon tied around the wrist until Isak lets go of his hair to grab hold of it, his hand and fingers covering the intricate knot and ends in a way that makes Even’s heart beat even faster, makes his balls pull up so tight that he knows he’s losing the battle.

“Isak, I’m--” he moans against Isak’s wrist, and Isak rewards those words by moving faster, by slamming down on him hard enough that Even feels his teeth rattle and that’s it for him.

He just lets go, gives himself over to the cresting waves of pleasure, lets the pooled pleasure in his groin erupt until it feels like every vein in his body is filled with euphoria, white-hot and scorching, washing over him again and again and again until there is nothing left for him to give. 

He somehow manages to stay sitting, holding Isak closer than should be possible, his hand surprisingly still moving even though he’s slowly coming down, trying to catch his breath, until he feels wetness spread between them accompanied by those delicious sounds from Isak that make Even wish he could go again already.

He almost regrets not being able to watch Isak come, wanted to know if his eyes would look at him in the same way as before, but this is good too. He’s buried against Isak, held tight in every way possible, their bodies so close that he’s almost not sure where he ends and Isak starts. 

It feels significant, how Isak gave himself to Even, let him watch. How Isak held on to the ribbon as he came. And he’s even more sure of it as Isak pulls back and there’s nothing in his eyes but a gleaming fondness that threatens to steal Even’s breath away all over again.

They sit there together, slowly catching their breaths, Even growing soft inside of Isak, Isak in Even’s hand, and in some ways, this perhaps feels even more intimate. The fact that they’re not hurrying away from each other, that they’re not shying away from the aftermath but both just reveling in it.

If Even could hug Isak any more tightly, he would.

There’s a rumble in Isak’s chest, a movement in his shoulders that takes a while for Even to notice for real, but when he does he recognizes it as laughter immediately.

He makes a sound, a question that’s not quite a word as he’s too tired to speak right now. Isak responds by laughing even louder until the sound breaks free of his chest and spills over.

“I can’t believe you’re still wearing clothes,” is what he says when he finally catches enough air to breathe.

Even wiggles his toes inside his shoes, notices the way his breeches are constricting his legs, and he’s powerless against Isak’s laugh, returns it pressed against where Isak’s neck and shoulder meet.

“I’m glad I can amuse you.”

Isak leans his head back and laughs even more and something swells inside Even’s chest, hearing Isak laugh that freely again.

When Isak finally pulls back and catches Even’s eyes, he’s still smiling wide and still fighting the last remnants of his laugh, and Even is utterly charmed.

He leans in, kisses Isak even though it’s mostly teeth and smile he’s kissing, but it’s good, it’s so good that Even almost can’t believe that this is real.

“I like hearing you laugh,” he says, hoping that he won’t turn the mood sour, but he watches in fascination how Isak’s smile turns from amused to fond and soft instead.

“Good,” Isak says and pushes Even’s sweaty hair away from his forehead, leans in and brushes his lips softly over Even’s eyebrow. “I plan on doing it a lot more in the time to come.”

And now it’s Even’s turn to laugh, hearing those words echoed back at him, amazed that Isak could even remember them from the last time they were together like this. 

“I like the sound of that,” he says, because there really is no other way for him to answer that statement, and turns his head to kiss whatever part of Isak he can reach.

The sound of Isak’s little huff of laughter that he gives in answer tells Even that Isak didn’t say those words by chance, tells Even that Isak is feeling just as much right now as Even. It’s enough for him to settle, for him to stop worrying. Enough for him to put his complete trust in  _ them. _

And he knows he always will.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, so that was my 3-year anniversary fic! I can't believe how fast time passes, omg. xD
> 
> Massive thank yous to Immy and Cola for betaing and cheerleading, to my lovely gc for holding my hand and doing word wars with me, all of you guys for reading my fics these last three years. Without you I don't even know what I would've done with myself, you have all made this fandom such a great place to be in for me. 
> 
> I hope you've enjoyed this continuation, or POV-switch if you will, I at least have had fun writing it. I hope you'll leave me a comment or a kudos if you did, and I promise I'll reply to them as soon as I'm settled after the move. ❤❤
> 
> Thank you! 😘

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for these last three years. You guys have been amazing to me, you’ve given me so much support and it’s been a joy writing for you. Thank you for every single hit, kudos, and comment you’ve given my fics, each and every single one has made me happy beyond belief. <3
> 
> That goes for this fic as well! Let me know what you think - please don’t hesitate to kudos and/or comment, it’s a sure way to make me the happiest camper. xD
> 
> I’m [nofeartina](https://nofeartina.tumblr.com/) on tumblr, come play.


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